


So It Is Always

by JeanValJean



Series: The Making of Us [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: Depression, Drugs, Emotional Abuse, First P.O.V, M/M, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanValJean/pseuds/JeanValJean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout their lives, people grow, and they change. Knowing this, it's safe to say we are never who we used to be. But, we are often reminded of our past selves, and it is with the help of this self that we become who we truly are; so ist es immer (so it is always).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Was Another Time

**Author's Note:**

> Levi's backstory and part P.O.V of All That I Am.  
> Please keep in mind the warnings, and do not take them lightly. This may hurt more than ATIA, it really depends on your experiences.  
> Stay Safe. x
> 
> P.S  
> It may help to read ATIA to get a better understanding of some of the dialogue in later chapters (TBA), as there is a lot of miscommunication between the two, given the minds of the characters.

In the summer of 2002, a civil war broke out in the East of Trost, between a leading drug cartel and the rich cousins of a pharmaceutical drug company. Families and civilians ran from the main streets, both to find solace in their own homes, or to escape them. Mr Kenny Ackerman, Mafia boss of an Underground organisation, prepared to defend his land and it's rights in order to keep his own unregistered weapons and drugs a secret from the police. Due to carelessness, he was caught in a crossfire and near fatally wounded.

He hadn't any time to warn them of his brother's unforeseen return, before he was taken to hospital and diagnosed as legally blind in his left eye.

In that very same summer, a war of its own kind broke out in the Ackerman home, North of Trost. Kutchel Ackerman yelled, though her voice shook, shielding her nine year old son behind her back. She held a knife held out in defence, trying desperately to summon the courage so many Ackerman ladies before her had needed in order to protect themselves.

However, at the thought of loosing her son to the monster before her, she wasn't brave enough.

Levi shook behind her, gripping tightly onto his mother's loose dress, and tearfully eyeing the devil creature in front of them. It was his first day of school holidays, finally having finished fourth grade. His mother grimaces, unable to move; unable to run with her son and leave behind the hell she hadn't been brave enough to leave. "Get out, Gerald! Just go! I told you, you'll have your money by the end of the week!" Kutchel shouted. "I'm not ripping you off, and I'm not a liar. I'd rather starve than have you miss out on your money, I told you that!"

Gerald choked on a laugh, fists balled at his sides as he revelled in the situation before him. His step-sister, cowering before him, holding her tiny son behind her shivering body in an attempt to save him from the danger that was her brother, Gerald Ackerman.

"Oh please, Kutchel, cut the bullshit. You and I both know that while you may be starving, that little brat behind you isn't." Gerald steps forward, ignoring the knife she weirdly and gripping Kutchel's arm, forcefully throwing her to the side. "You little runt. You're the one who's eating up my hard-earned money, aren't you? God, and you're such a fucking twig too, no one would know. What are you, anorexic at nine years old? Figures. You and your mom two peas in a pod, aren't ya?"

Levi shakes, stuck in one place, unsure of how to answer. What was he even talking about? He doesn't like peas. Gerald takes his hand, ignoring Kutchel's pleas to let him go, and shoves him against the wall. "Answer me!" He shouts.

Levi's bottom lip quivers, and he struggles to hold in tears. "N-No..."

"Is that a lie, boy?"

Levi shakes his head, hyperventilating to keep himself from crying. He would always get picked on by Uncle G for being a crybaby, and so when he was home from work, Levi would always do something that 'normal boys do' - anything that would make him look like he was strong. "N-No, Uncle G. I'm not anaemic."

"Tch. Is this some joke to you?" His uncle throws Levi to the ground, ignoring the sickening crack of his left arm and his pained cries, instead gripping Kutchel by the wrist and dragging her kicking and screaming up the stairs. "You go away for a while, boy. I don't need you messing shit up in here."

"Levi! Levi! Just go to Farlan's, okay? Don't cry, baby, it's going to be okay!" Kutchel cries out, struggling in Gerald's arms as Levi watches her disappear around the corner.

Tears fall from young Levi's eyes, and he grips his wrist with his opposite hand, holding it close to his body. How can he get to Farlan's? Can't Uncle G just let mom stop crying so she can drive him there? He wants to call Uncle Kenny, but he doesn't remember his phone number.

He should ask his mom, so long as Uncle G doesn't catch him.

Levi carefully takes the stairs, wary of the creaky ones, up to the bedrooms. He listens for any sounds of his Uncle G, not knowing where he had gone, and fearful that he would find him still home. Levi carefully opens the door to his moms room, wiping at his eyes, before he stops. Inside the room, his mother is sprawled out on the bed, lifeless arms hanging either side of the bed frame, and Gerald looming over her, his pants down to his ankles.

"Didn't think I'd let you go without another forceful fuck, did ya? Filthy whore. Pity you couldn't enjoy this as much as I do. If you didn't put up such a fight, maybe you could've."

Terrified, Levi steps back and runs down the stairs. He leaves the house with nothing but the over-sized night shirt on his back, and tries desperately to remember the way to Farlan's.

Young Levi Ackerman found solace at Farlan Church's house, luckily coming across Mrs Church on the main road. She asked why he was crying, and he told her exactly why. And if there was one thing this little boy learnt that day, it's that you don't get between an angry woman and her prey, no matter what or whom it is.

Cops, casts, interviews; standing in the back of the room at his mother's funeral, wishing only for someone to hold him like she did and tell him that they would love him like she did.

They didn't.

Not even Mrs Church held him for too long, saying a quick goodbye to him when Farlan rang to ask if she was still picking him up from soccer. She didn't want him at the funeral, telling the other adults there that it 'wasn't the right place for a child to be.'

Levi went the entire ceremony alone, and then some. At nine years old, Levi became a liar. He said he had someone at home to look after him, his grandmother, but he didn't. Young Levi Ackerman skipped school and ate noting for over a week, until the verdict of the trial was publicised on TV. Gerald Ackerman was found _Not Guilty_ of the murder of Kutchel Ackerman, and would have full custody of Levi Ackerman, over Kenny Ackerman, who hadn't arrived at the appeal and therefore deemed unfit to support a young life.

For summer, it was oh so cold and bleak in that small house.

- **x-**

At nine years old, I didn't know too much. Even today, I still don't know too much, but it was a lot worse back then. I was young and naive, and for more years than I'm proud to admit, I relied on adults to get me through. The only thing that I did know back then, that I was certain about, was that mom wasn't ever coming back. Once they buried her in the ground on that unusually cold summer day, I wasn't ever going to see her smile again. I knew that I had only myself to guide me through life. That's just the way it was, and that was the way it would always be.

I didn't like it. I didn't want to be alone - I needed people in my life because I wasn't strong enough on my own. I'd never been without someone there. 

Yet suddenly, I was what I feared most; _completely alone_.

I cried for three weeks straight after mom's funeral. One of those weeks, I was completely on my own, even though I'd been living on the hope that my uncle would be caring for me. In that week alone, I didn't go to school, I didn't eat, and I didn't bathe. I was a mess, and although I didn't know it at the time, that was only the beginning of a far longer time alone.

The other two weeks, I may as well have been by myself, because Uncle G was too busy doing drugs in the shed with his friends, and leaving me to fend for myself. Of course, I didn't know that was where he was until much later. Half way through that week, I passed out from malnutrition, and I woke up in the same spot I nearly died in. It took all of my energy to drag myself down the stairs to pour a glass of water and eat something.

All I knew how to make was Mac and Cheese, but I was too short to reach the microwave. So, I had an apple. Can you believe that? A fucking _apple_. I hadn't eaten for nearly a week and a half, and all I had was an apple, because my legal guardian was too fucked off his face to give a shit about me.

That evening, around dinner time, Uncle G knocked on my door and told me that we were going out. I wish I didn't have to relive these years of my life, but I guess if they didn't happen, I wouldn't be the person I am today. And I'm a pretty great person today, I'm not going to sugarcoat it.

And so, this is where those years of woe that I pray I'll never have to share again, truly begin.

 

* * *

 

His thundering fist against my wooden door startled me, and I frantically rubbed my eyes to rid them of tears. "Get out of that stupid thing, it's over a hundred degrees out there, who do you think you are? We're eating out with a few of the guys. I'll get you a table and whatever you want to eat, but don't talk to them. Got that?"

"Yes, Uncle G," I say, trying not to sound like I've been crying for the past _three weeks._

I reluctantly remove my mother's favourite aqua sweater, which I had saved from being thrown out as it still smelt like her, and put on the cleanest pair of pants and a jumper I could find. I'd never even really dressed myself before. I hoped to god that I had my shoes on the right feet this time, or Uncle G would embarrass me again.

Within ten minutes, Uncle G appears again and tales me by the wrist, dragging me down the stairs in a hurry. He's wearing dress pants and an expensive-looking button up. I dont have the courage nor voice to ask him where he bought it from, afraid he would take it as me not being grateful for what I already had. Which, for the record, was very little.

Uncle G managed to get rid of most of the things that meant a lot to me; my favourite stuffed teddy bear, which I relied on to sleep, was the second most painful.

My mother was the first.

He'd thrown out my comfort objects; my good pencils, various clothes, and most of the foods that we're easy to reach on the bottom shelf. _Why_? I didn't have a clue, but it made me mad. And when I thought about what Uncle G thought about people who got mad, because they were ungrateful, I became sad and mad. Both, at myself.

"You're going to sit at your own table; probably at the bar. I know the guy who works there so he'll keep you out of trouble, okay?" Gerald told me, harshly. I nodded, and hopped into the back seat of his car.

 _Why did I have to go, if I couldn't even sit with my uncle?_ I didn't think anything of it when we got there, though. I was far too preoccupied by the loudness of the place.

When we'd walked past a small place called Recon, I thought for sure that would be where we would go. It looked nice - really nice. There were high ceilings and bright lights and lots of nice looking old people, who would surely be nice to me if they saw Uncle G doing anything mean.

But, we didn't. We kept going, until we reached a stingy bar at the end of the street. The air inside was thick from cigarette smoke, and each step on the worn out carpet brought fourth a new smell of vomit and alcohol. The walls seemed to be emitting bad smells, and it took all of my will power not to cover my nose in disgust.

Uncle G carelessly placed me on a bar stool and called for Smithy, a man who appeared a few moments later, chuckling to himself and drying a glass. Even as a child, I noticed his resistance to greet Uncle G, but I didn't exactly know why.

"Ah- Gerald Ackerman, what a surprise to see you out here so unguarded," He chided, and Gerald laughed.

"Good to see you too, Smithy. Got enough staff to look after this one here?" He gestures to me. "Got important shit to talk about with the guys, can't have trouble here making a fuss."

He ruffled my hair, and I pulled away, staring at him with fearful eyes. Gerald looked over it, but Smithy didn't. He nods dismissively, instead. "Sure. Go off then, I'll take him round back. Dinner is on the house-"

Uncle G gasps, a smile on his cracked lips. "Are you serious?"

"-For him."

Uncle G grumbles as he walks away, not bothering to thank the bartender. Smithy turns to me and holds out his hand. "You can climb over the bar, it's safe." I follow his instructions, taking his hand and swinging my legs over the bar and taps. Smithy is tall, and blonde, with an almost perfect face. Everything about the man made me feel comfortable, and inviting, making me feel like I was worthy to walk beside him instead of a few feet behind.

"What's your name?" He asks me, leading me down behind the bar.

"Levi," I answer, clinging to his pants desperately to keep up with his large strides. I'm glad he doesn't tell me off for it, Uncle G usually would.

Smithy hums in thought. "Levi... Do you go to school, Levi?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm on break."

He quirked a brow. "Is that so? What school do you go to when you don't have holidays?"

"Trost Primary," I answer. "I'm going to be in fifth grade next year."

"That's fantastic!" He smiles, taking a menu from the side counter, before opening up a concealed door and leading me inside. "You can choose whatever you want for dinner, and I'll have my son take care of you. Is that okay?"

I nod again. "Yes."  _I didn't want to. God, did I not want to. Leaving me alone with some strange kid? In some stinky bar while my uncle for drunk again? Nope. I hated it. I wanted to go home. It could only lead to a disaster, having to socialise with someone I didn't know._

"Erwin," Smithy calls into the small room. "Can you look after Levi here for a few hours? _Beer-Barrel_ is here, and I can't leave him alone at the bar until God knows when."

A young blonde boy appears, looking older than I am, carrying a box of books. "Sure. Is he having dinner too?"

"He is," Smithy says. "Treat him well."

The blonde nods. "Okay." His father leaves the two of us alone; Erwin, in the middle of the room, placing a box of books on the floor and sitting on the couch to go through it, and me, standing as close to the wall in the far corner as I could. "You can come over here, Levi," He smiles. "I'm not going to hurt you... Do you like books?" I shrug, and he continues. "What have you ordered for dinner?"

I glance down nervously at the menu, gripping it tightly between my shaking hands, trying to make sense of the letters arranged in strange formations. "Um..."

Erwin smiles again, and walks over to me, tenderly guiding me by the hand back to the couch. It's much nicer to how Uncle G holds my arm. And it's good he didn't notice me pull away - I'd been told off for that before. "Can you read?" Erwin asks. I shake my head, and he keeps on smiling, as if reassuring me that it's not a problem. "That's okay. Tell me what you like and I'll tell you if it's on here."

I swallow. _I don't know what I like. What if he doesn't like what I like, and he yells at me for not being the same as him? I don't want to get in trouble.._. "What are you having?" I ask, quietly.

He hums, reading over the menu for himself, leaning it a little closer towards me, before deciding. "Chicken nuggets," He says, pointing to the writing on the menu for me to see the words.

I nod once. "Okay."

"Pardon?"

I grip tightly at the edge of the couch, the words written on the menu not making any sense. What had he said? "I'll have chicken nugglets too. Please."

He stares at me, eyes wide, and I become insecure. _Was I not meant to have the same as him? Would he like me to choose something else?_ I'd only ever been out to dinner once before, and I was a baby, so I didn't remember much.

Just then, Erwin starts to laugh. I don't know why, and I shove him, questioning him as to what is so funny. "What? What's funny?" I ask, shaking him to get him to respond with something other than fits of laughter.

He wipes at his eyes, shaking slightly from the come-down fit of giggles. "You- aha- You said 'nugglets' Hahah!"

I furrowed my brows. "What's funny about that? You didn't laugh when you said it." I didn't understand why that would be funny. Was he playing a prank on me because I couldn't read, so he only faked what he said?

Erwin smiles brightly, wrapping an arm around me and rubbing my shoulder. "You're a cool kid, Levi. I'll tell dad what we're having, then do you wanna play a game?"

I nod, more enthusiastic than before. "Yes, okay."

Erwin leaves me for only a few moments, and I stay on the couch, swinging my legs for them to hit the couch and bounce forward. I decide that I like Erwin. At school, I don't have many friends, besides Farlan, who rarely turns up anyway, and they were all loud and annoying there anyway.

To me, Erwin was the cool guy. He's taller than me by a lot, yet he didn't speak down to me. I liked that... _Maybe he's the big brother mom never showed me? The one she always talked about in front of Uncle Kenny, but never ever showed me a picture?_

_That would be nice, if Erwin was my brother. We could play fight, and watch TV, and play games, and he could make me food and we could go to the park... Maybe he could look after me instead of Uncle G, and I could be with Smithy and Erwin?_

"Okay," Erwin says, shutting the door behind him as he enters, startling me slightly. "Wanna watch a movie, or play a board game? Dad says the computer here is broken, so we can't play anything fun on it today."

 _Today_ , he'd said. _Would I be coming back some other time to play with him? He_ has _to be my brother._ "A movie," I decide. Erwin nods and turns on the TV, finding the correct movie channel and pointing to a box of tapes.

"You can pick one," He says. "I don't mind what we watch, I like everything in there."

I decide on Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and Erwin happily puts it on, recalling it as 'one of his favourites.' Half way through, or close to, Erwin's father brings us our dinner, and we pause the movie.

"How old are you?" I ask him, ripping apart my nuggets instead of cutting them. I'd never been taught how. I would teach myself, one day, but I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of Erwin. If he really was my brother, he'd never introduce me to his cool friends if I couldn't even cut my food right.

"Thirteen," He answers, covering his mouth as he speaks, to hide the chewed up food. "And you?"

"I'm nine," I say, shovelling a large number of half-chicken nuggets into my mouth with my hand.

His smile is warmer now, when I notice it. "Do you not know how to use a knife and fork?" He asks. "I don't want to sound rude, but you look like you're struggling."

I shake my head. "No."

"You can eat with your finger here, it's okay, but I'll teach you sometime. Should we put the movie on while we eat? We may not have enough time to finish it before your uncle leaves though."

I nod, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Okay."

As it so happens, we did have enough time to finish our meals. Uncle G didn't stop drinking until the bar closed, at 2am. In that time, I'd fallen asleep on the couch in the back room almost right after dinner, and when I woke up, I was still there.

In front of me was a hand-written note, however I didn't know what it said because I couldn't read. I figured, knowing Erwin knew that, it had been written by his father. I understood the words 'Erwin' and 'upstairs,' and so I leave the back room and search quietly for the stairs.

I didn't know where to start, entering the bar from the back room and standing to the side, looking around at the chairs stacked on tables, looming high above my head. I couldn't see any stairs, or even an upper level. Maybe I'd read it wrong?

I walk a little faster now, trying to push my fear into the back of my mind. Eventually, I find them, in the very back corner beside the gaming room. I crept up slowly, clinging to the banister, reminded of the sight that awaited me at the top of the stairs in my own home those weeks ago. How long had it really been?

I peek around the corner, and as if it was scripted, Erwin and I nearly collide. I topple backwards to the floor in fright, and Erwin leans against to the wall to regain his footing, chuckling lightly. "Sorry, Levi! I didn't see you there." He offers his hand for me to stand, and I take it, standing to my feet and brushing my pants of dust.

Once I regain my vision, my posture loosens up again. "Where's Uncle G?" I ask him, nervously holding my hands in front of me. "I didn't go home, he might get mad."

Erwin shakes his head, placing his hands in to the pockets of his large jumper. "He's at your home, and he knows you stayed here. He didn't want to wake you, when he found you asleep... Did you sleep well?"

I swallow. _He really didn't want to wake me? Maybe he isn't as mean as I thought he was... No. I have to be carefu_ l. "When does he want me home? Did he tell you?"

Erwin raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question it. "N-No, he didn't. I'm not sure, but I can ask my father and see if he knows. You might be staying for lunch, as it's nearly noon."

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"Lunchtime," Erwin smiles. "Would you like something to drink? This place isn't open today until five, so anything you have is free."

 _Free? I don't have to pay for it? I hadn't known anything like that even existed..._ I look around the hallway for a moment, thinking. "Do you have apple juice?"

Erwin nods. "We do. Come down to the restaurant and I'll get you a glass. Father's in the kitchen making lunch, are you hungry?"

"Yes."

Erwin guides me by the shoulders down the stairs, pacing his lengthy strides to slow to my own short ones. I cling to his jumper, trying to be subtle. If Uncle G ever caught me accepting help from someone, he'd definitely be mad.

"I'll check what we're having, and bring you your juice," Erwin says, once I'm secure on a bar stool. "Are you allergic to anything?"

"Milk," I say. I can't remember the words, they're quite long, but I know that milk is something I shouldn't have.

"Oh. Are you lactose intolerant?"

I blink twice in amazement. "Yes. You're smart, Erwin."

Erwin smiles wide, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I have to be, I'm in seventh grade."

"Oh."

Erwin leaves me behind, and I play with a few straws, bending them, making geometric shapes as best I knew how, and trying to remain on the stool. It had one leg shorter than the other, which put me off balance a few times before Erwin returned, two glasses of apple juice in hand.

"We're having lasagne. I hope that's okay with you," He says, putting a straw in the glass as I lean forward frantically to drink it. I hadn't had a drink since yesterday morning.

I nod, and Erwin chuckles, sipping lightly at his own drink. "We'll take you home after lunch. Your uncle knows you'll be home by one."

A strange, sickly feeling fills my gut, but I don't act upon it, nor do I say anything. I remain quiet for the time I spend there, unless asked a question or spoken to directly. And then, before I know it, we're parked at the front of the house.

"There you go. Do you need us to walk you in?" Mr Smith asks, unlocking the car doors.

I shake my head. No, Uncle G wouldn't like that - he doesn't like strangers in his home. "No, thanks."

Mr Smith nods. "Alright, you take care, okay? And if you ever need anything, give us a ring, okay?"

I nod, and Erwin rolls up my sleeve to scrawl a phone number on my forearm. "Write this down somewhere you won't loose it, okay? And call us whenever you need to."

I can't help but wonder why these strangers are being so nice, but once again, I don't question it. "Okay. Thank you." I leave the car and wave to them as they drive away, already missing Erwin's presence.

I stand tip-toed to reach the handle on the front door, and sneak quietly into the house. Liquor bottles are scattered on the carpet, and smashed on the tiles, and various stains are visible on the pale walls. I close the door quietly and watch my steps carefully, taking notice of the needles sticking out of the carpet. Usually Uncle G only has fun with his friends in the shed. _He must have been having a lot of fun, and didn't want me to have fun too, and that's why he left me..._

I make my way upstairs and change into a new pair of clothes. Uncle G always wants me looking nice, so I know not to look for him without being clean. Once I'm dressed, I make my way outside and knock on the door of the shed, lightly, awaiting a reply.

"Whadd'ya want?" Uncle G growls, as I slowly open the shed door. "Oh- You. You're back. Have fun?" I nod twice, and Uncle G rolls his eyes. "Speak up, boy!"

"Yes, I had fun," I say, loudly. I try to ignore the bottles of alcohol stacked on the shelves, nor the broken ones making it hard for me to find any safe pathway in.

He nods. "Good... Hm, come in here a sec, would ya? Got a little something for you for being such a good boy."

My eyes widen slightly. "Oh! Okay." _I'm a good boy? He thinks I'm a good boy? It must be because I remembered to change clothes, and because I stayed away from home without crying like last time._

I smile inwardly, entering the shed and walking towards Uncle G, now standing and searching through one of his boxes. _I'm a good boy..._ "Sit up here," He directs me, pointing to the wicker chair he sat in before. "Had a little fun last night with my friends, but I couldn't try out one of my sweets on them because they had a little too much to drink. Wanna have some sweets?"

I nod frantically. "Yes, please." I _love_ sweets. I haven't had sweets since Uncle Kenny last came around, which feels like forever ago. "Are they nice?" I ask him, trying to peer over his shoulders to see the flavours. 

"Well," Uncle G starts, taking thick liquid into a syringe, then tapping a powdery substance into his hand. "I haven't tried it yet. I don't like things that are too sweet, but you might. Then I can share them with my friends, too. They all like sweet things."

"And then we can all have fun together?" I ask. I've never had fun with Uncle G before. I wonder what kind of games he plays? I'd like to play darts one day. Or maybe soccer.

Uncle G nods with a smile. "We sure can."

When he started to approach me, holding strange things in his hands, I knew I'd made a mistake. What, I couldn't answer, but I knew that being in that she'd with him was a bad idea. Uncle Gerald didn't give me sweets that day. He strapped me to that chair, and injected a cold, burning liquid into my arm. "Ow!" I shout. "It hurts!"

"Get over it," Uncle G growls. "You wanna have fun, or not? No pain, no gain."

I didn't understand. And then, he held open my jaw and poured the bitter contents from his hand into my mouth, holding my head back by the hair to make sure I didn't spit it out. I coughed and spluttered and cried for hours, locked away in my room, both freezing and hot at the same time. He wasn't remorseful in the slightest, walking in to write on his notepad every hour or so, and then leaving me with an abusive comment about not being strong enough.

This went on for several weeks, before Christmas Eve arrived and Uncle G left to stay at a friends house in the South, for a whole week. He wrote down some numbers for me to call, but left them on the top of the counter, where I couldn't reach.

I shook and sweated for that entire week, and spent my birthday crying on the bathroom floor when I couldn't get the temperature right in the shower, unable to steady my shaky hand. Once again, I didn't eat, and went malnourished well into the New Year. When Uncle Gerald got home, I was at death's door. I'd been living off of the drug concoctions he'd been feeding me for weeks beforehand, and being deprived of those drugs at age ten, my body couldn't handle it.

He didn't take me to a doctor, though. He took my to his friend, Archie Church, and he kept me alive. I stayed with the Church's for two weeks, where I recuperated alongside Farlan, who I hadn't known knew my uncle.

And then, after it was all over, it was time to start school.

With my unhealthy mind ever-increasing, Uncle G dropped me at the front gates on my first day, and even walked me in. Mom hadn't done that on my first day of fourth grade, but I didn't tell him that. He might've felt hurt if I told him that, and then he would yell at me, and it would be all my fault again.

Just like it was my fault my body didn't like the sweets. He told me he was only trying to be nice, but because I didn't like the sweets, he felt hurt, and I would have to make it up to him.

Once I knew which class to go to, he left me with a firm pat on the shoulder. "See you after school, Levi. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I nod. "Okay. Bye, Uncle G."

I ignore a few kids asking me why my uncle had dropped me off at school and not my parents, choosing to find Farlan instead. We'd been put in the same class again, which was nice, and he called me over immediately. "Guys, this is Levi, and Levi, this is Isabel, Moblit, and Rico," Farlan says, pointing at each person as he introduces us.

"Hi," I say shyly, as they respond with variations of waves and smiles. "Are you all in this class, too?"

"We are! Levi, Farlan's told me you're a great kid. You're like his brother, can you be my brother too? Except..." Isabel looks me up and down, hands on my shoulders. "You might have to be my little brother..."

Rico laughs. "Hey how, Isabel."

"What? I'm only kidding!"

Once I'd gotten over the jokes about my height, I laughed with them, and we stuck out the day together. I had most classes with Isabel, three with Farlan, and one with Rico and Moblit. They were nice people, and I enjoyed my first day with them.

And just as Uncle G took me to school, he picked me up too. During that first term, he always asked about my day. I thought that was nice, that he cared enough about me to ask how I was, and how fifth grade was going, and to act almost like a father.

One day, in the early spring, I went home with Farlan for a sleepover, and Uncle G was already there with Archie, having a beer on the front porch. Cicadas sung in the humid air, and old music sounded static through the old, bricky speakers. As I sat with Farlan in the dirt, watching him dig for bugs I was too grossed out to search for myself, I felt at peace. I felt it was nice to know Uncle G was looking out for me now, always there, making sure I hadn't gotten into any mischief.

I wasn't a burden anymore. I was _finally_ a part of his family.

It was like he really cared about me. Like, finally, he knew that I wasn't the waste of space he thought I was; that I wasn't going to stop him from having fun, just because I didn't like the sweets as much as he did.

When summer break came around, Farlan and Isabel and I hung out a lot, and we even celebrated their birthdays together at the park. They walked there both times, but Uncle G drove me, making sure to keep his hand on my knee the whole ride there, telling me now to be nervous.

I wasn't nervous at first, but the more he told me I shouldn't be, the more I was.

When we arrived at Isabel's birthday party, the weather was perfect. Cool air dried out damp clothes from playing around in the pond, and whilst many of came back to the lunch table filthy, no one made any comments. As parents were invited to stay, Uncle G and Archie hung out like they always did. I played with my friends, and Uncle G shed with his. It was perfect.

Seeing Uncle G interacting with the other parents, and not having so much fun that he would pass out or yell at me, made me happy. It was nice to have him around me, looking after me and protecting me, like a proper family member would.

That is, until Isabel asked why he stared at me like that.


	2. It Was Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those tags about abuse, rape and self-harm? Please be cautious as you read from now on, as those are heavy themes.

2003 brought with it a terrible winter, and the Ackerman family had barely enough to feed themselves let alone buy Christmas presents. Nonetheless, not a half hour past four in the morning, Levi bounded down the hallway with a smile on his face, ready to open the single wrapped present beneath the tree with his name written on. He was oblivious to the way his mother hurriedly took him by the arm to send him back to his room, a dressing gown half way wrapped around her naked body, and a shadow of a man sneaking out the back door.

She told him quietly to wait in his room, and he did so, as she met the man at the back of the house and accepted her fee. For what? Levi hadn't any idea. He'd watched his mother from his bedroom window countless times, being payed here and there by strangers in the early hours of the morning, or in the dead of night, no matter the weather.

He would have told his mother that he knew, that he'd known for quite some time honestly, but there must've been a reason she didn't want him knowing. He didn't know what that reason was, being only six at the time, but it hadn't mattered.

He would wait in his room just a little longer, if it meant that his mother was happy.

She soon opened his door, leaning against the door frame with a sigh. "Someone's excited to get out of bed, huh. I wonder why? Surely there isn't anything waiting downstairs for you under the Christmas tree, is there Levi?"

He laughs, running at her at full force, and she lifts him into her weak arms with a hearty chuckle. "C'mon. Let's go see what's down there."

It was a tea cup. Nothing special or fancy, but Levi's hands were gentle as they caressed it's porcelain surface. He held it like the thirsty held a glass of water, unsure if it really was in his hands in that moment, or if he was dreaming.

"Happy Birthday, Levi," Kutchel smiled, sitting beside her son and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "And Merry Christmas."

- **x** -

Everyday was a struggle. Living in that house reminded me of everything that had been, and everything that was to come. In all honesty, even as an eleven year old, I didn't think there was much more to life than what I knew. And that was simply staying alive.

I didn't have any dreams or aspirations, that I was aware of. Everything passed as it had to, and although I didn't pick up on it at the time, the world kept on spinning; with or without me.

Hell, I didn't even know I wasn't spinning with it. As a kid, I didn't notice much, only what I had to. I didn't care that I was getting lazier, as Uncle G had said, or that I was both gaining and loosing weight at a rapid pace. Even when I began to disassociate from reality I didn't pay it any mind; it was more trouble that it was worth. I didn't notice any changes within myself, because I was too focused on not focusing on those things. School was my top priority. That and making sure I didn't die under the care of Uncle G, who had neglected me many times prior.

It was simply something I'd grown accustomed to over the years.

I can't recall exactly why I felt the way I did, or what made me feel the way I did, but every day I went without seeing my friends from school, or even getting out of the house, I became anxious. It was like if I stayed in one spot for too long, my restlessness would drive me insane, and I would resort to banging my head against the brick walls of my bedroom just to keep me from screaming at the top of my lungs. 

Like a short, dark-haired Rapunzel, I was locked away in my bedroom for most of my conscious hours; held captive by a parental figure whom I thought was doing what was best, when he was actually causing more harm than anything else.

But even at the age of eleven, I needed to get out of the house daily; if not to keep me sane, to keep me alive. Being stuck inside those off-white walls, day in and day out, with my only escape being the front or back yards, with Uncle G constantly on the look out for me 'in case I needed help,' I felt trapped. Essentially, I was.

It was nice that he was looking out for me. I felt it was a way of compensating for the drugs he'd given me, and what they did to me. But then he'd yell at me, or raise a hand at me 'as a joke,' and suddenly I would be afraid again. It was like living without a limb; sometimes waking up and feeling it there, even when it isn't. I felt like there was love and compassion there, but I was only imagining it. Alternatively, I wanted to imagine it; just in case.

Having a hand raised to you as some sick form of a game didn't do wonders for that imaginative familial love, either. ' _It's only a joke_ ,' He said. ' _You need to get a sense of humour, or you'll never keep the friends you've got. Lighten up, and stop looking so glum all the time. Learn to take a joke.'_

That's why, when the doorbell rang on the fifth of March, 2008, I sped down the stairs to open it; all whilst ignoring Uncle G's insistence that I go back up to my room. 

I'd had enough. And if there was one thing I was going to do that day that he didn't want me to, it was opening that goddamn door.

I'd been at home for over a week, what with school holidays and all. It was for two weeks that I would go without seeing my friends, unless they invited me over (which I highly doubted they would). So, there was no way I wasn't going to at least see another face that day, even if it was only one of Uncle G's friends. Hell, even the mailman would have been fine.

Mr Smith and Erwin stood in the front door, each holding a small platter of finger food and a few cans of soda. Uncle G admitted that he and Smithy were having a few drinks together that evening, in celebration of something that I wasn't told about, nor was I ever going to be. He then said that he didn't want me involved, because I wouldn't understand, and I would probably ruin it if I got too excited. So, Mr Smith had brought along Erwin so that we could play together whilst he and Uncle G drank and laughed and listened to old music on our worn out radio, completely ignorant to the rest of the world.

"Hi, Levi," Erwin greeted, smiling brightly as he extends his hand for me to shake. "I can't believe it's nearly been a month! I think you've grown a little, too."

Half-frown deteriorating, I beamed, shaking his hand immediately. "Well, I think you've gotten shorter," I remark, pulling a face and examining his definitely not shorter figure. I point at the platter of sweet-looking biscuits and chocolates and fruit. "Is that for us?"

He chuckles. "Sure, why not? I hope you like this kind of stuff. I'm not so much a sweet tooth myself, but there's a variety in here."

Uncle G sends us upstairs almost immediately, cutting our initial conversation short, telling us that it's no place for children around alcohol. I wanted to call him out on the fact that he always drinks around me, and that Erwin and his father live above a bar, but I don't. I keep my mouth shut, and lead Erwin up to my bedroom; there's no way I want Uncle G giving me those drugs again. After the way I felt, I'll probably never ever eat anything sweet again, just in case it's made by Uncle G.

Except maybe the sweets Erwin brought. I didn't think that he would bring the awful things that Uncle G did into the house, let alone to share with me. I trusted him and Mr Smith. Even if I doubted it occasionally, as to be expected, my trust was stronger than my fear.

"How's school?" Erwin asked as we enter my bedroom. He stood at the door, leaning against it and scanning his eyes around my room. There wasn't much to see; simply a single bed, a white desk, and a glass bedside table. He hummed. "I hear you've started sixth grade. That must be exciting for you."

 _Why does he look so awkward_? I couldn't help but notice he hadn't even opened the snacks, either. I shrugged, making my way over to sit on my bed. "Yeah, it's okay... I don't like math, though."

He smiled. "I don't like math either."

It was silent for a while; awkward silence. _Did I say something wrong? Have I not said enough? He's not sitting down, either. Maybe he thinks I'm germy_? I didn't pick up the complete tension until Erwin sighed and cleared his throat.

"You can sit down you know," I said cautiously, motioning around the room. "I'm not a smelly kid. I haven't pooped on the floor since I was three."

I feel my face heat up at his expression, one of humour and discomfort, realising what I'd just told him. He simply shrugs it off and takes a seat on the floor, placing the wrapped platter a little ways in front of him.

"I'm glad to hear that," He said, smiling slightly.

Memories of time gone by flashed quickly through my mind, and I didn't realise I'd spaced out at all, not even as a concerned expression crosses Erwin's features; an expression that I missed.

 

 _'I'm glad to hear that, loser.'_ Nile Dawk, who would be Erwin's age, pushed me against the shed down the road after I'd told him my father would be coming home later that day, and that he would kick Nile's arse if he found out what an asshole he was. ' _But no weak link like your dad is ever gonna kick my ass. Hell, you can't even stand up and I've only pushed you. What are you, a baby?'_

 

His menacing tone echoed in my ears, ringing like bells that are stagnant against the warm summers air outside. Erwin cleared his throat again, lightly tapping a finger against my shoulder. With that, I quickly pushed the thoughts away, then moved from my bed to sit closer to him, cross legged.

"You're not a mean big kid like the others, I don't think. You should come to my school." _I'd hang out with you so Nile wouldn't come after me._ "I'd hang out with you so you weren't such a loner."

Erwin laughEd, looking off to the side a little. "I'm sure your school is full of nice big kids, too. Maybe just hang out with kids your own age. That's what I did, at least."

I sighed. "Yeah, but they come after me. We have gym with the older kids, and they're always mean to me... I think it's because I'm small. But when I get bigger, I'm gonna be taller than everyone, and then they'll all be afraid of me." _Then Uncle G will be afraid of me, instead of the other way around._

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Erwin grinneed. He then motioned to the platter between us. "I'm hungry, you don't mind if I open this up, do you?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I admitted, already reaching forward to unwrap it with him. We finished the platter of food in only a matter of minutes, and Erwin comments that I 'eat a lot for my age, which means _I'll probably grow more_. I decided that we need more food. 

I told Erwin to stay put, that he could put on a movie or find something on TV, and that I'd go down and get us some snacks. I didn't want him to get involved with Uncle G, just in case he thought he was snooping around or trying to get into the shed for whatever guilty reason. And, if at least one friend wasn't suspicious of my uncle, maybe we'd become closer. 

Maybe then Erwin really could be a big brother figure to me; not one that makes nasty, disturbing comments about my uncle, that is. Just someone I can trust, without feeling like an idiot, who doesn't blame me for the family that I have.

Sure, he was a bit weird. And he'd hurt me with what he gave me in the shed. But he'd just witnessed his step-sisters death. He told me just how horrified he was that the police charged him with murder against his step-sister, when he was trying to save her. I didn't dare tell him what I'd seen. After all, I probably only imagined it. _Because of my grief._

Yeah. Just as Uncle G had told me for so many years after moms death; _grief can make you do and see strange and terrible things, if you don't know how to handle it properly._

Well, I was doing just fine with my grief. Mom hadn't been alive for nearly two years now, and I could still remember everything about her. As long as I had the memories of mom that made me happy, that's all that I would need to live my life and be who she knew I could be.

Who she told me I was.

I managed to reach a large bag of potato chips from the middle shelf, standing on my tip-toes, and two warm cans of soda from the bench. None of it was quality, like what he'd brought over, but he would have to make do.

Carefully, I tip-toed up the stairs and sprinted into my room, silently shutting the door behind me. By now, Erwin was sat on my bed, the TV staton settled on some cartoon channel.

"We don't have much," I shrugGet, moving to crawl onto the bed and sit beside him. "I hope you like chips and soda."

He smiled, talking a can from my hand. "I do like chips and soda. Thanks, Levi."

I shrugged it off and went about my own things for the majority of the evening. Erwin took out his flip phone and showed me how to play Snake, at one point, but I soon got bored and opted to watch TV beside him instead. We didn't exchange much conversation for the rest of the night, instead comfortable with only each others' company. That is until Mr Smith stumbled his way up to my room to fetch Erwin, who was quickly becoming tired.

I'd thought that someone in ninth grade would be able to handle staying up late. After all, it was only just eleven o'clock, but apparently Erwin was an early to bed kind of guy.

"Sorry about this, Levi," Mr Smith apologised, as Erwin collects the empty platter of food. "I hope we didn't keep you up past your bedtime."

I shook my head, crossing my arms to keep me steady on my feet. "Nope! I'm up late every night, so it's okay." 

I said my parting goodbye's from the doorframe of my bedroom, even gracing Erwin and his father with a high-five before they leave, smiling proudly to myself. I closed the door of my bedroom and near skipped over to my bed, flopping face down onto the comforter. 

I'd done it. I'd made a cool friend.

My excitement didn't last long though, and the electric happiness inside me soon died when Uncle G opened my door and barged into my room without knocking. Unknowingly, I sat up with a smile on my face, only to have it turn the other way when I caught a glimpse of something horrid in Uncle G'd eyes.

I swallowed thick, drawling my limbs closer to the trunk of my body, as if to show him I was going to completely submit to him. "Uncle G?" 

He smirked darkly at my tiny figure. "Come with me, kid," He huffed quietly; eerily so. "Didn't quite get to have fun with Smithy back there, but I'm sure you'll love this stuff." My stomach knotted as he spoke, but I immediately left the comfort of my bedroom and followed Uncle G downstairs, where he told me to sit on the large sofa. I did so, and watched him carefully as he brought over a large glass beaker type thing with a long neck.

It looked like something we had in the science labs at school, but more sinister, and much larger than any beaker I'd ever seen. Catching my confusion, Uncle G chuckled and presented me with new information; information my later self would wish I'd never been given at such as such a young and naive child.

"It's a bong. We put green in there, and then we smoke it," He told me, fiddling with a snap-lock bag of what looked like green seasoning. What had the home-ec teacher called it? Thyme? It sure didn't look like it, really. "You up for it, kid?"

"Isn't smoking bad for you?" I asked, looking at the set up with cautious, fearful eyes. "I don't want to die."

He chuckled, louder and more obnoxious. "It's not that kind of smoke. It'll make you feel good about everything - trust me." When I don't answer, he sighs, and dramatically fakes a forlorn expression. "What, don't you trust your dear old uncle? I should have known... Those news broadcasts have turned you away from me. Your own flesh and blood, made to look like such a fool on TV-"

"No!" I shouted, quickly. "I trust you! I'll do it!"

It would make for quite an exciting story on Monday, would it? 'Hey guys, I smoked pot on the weekend.' They'd probably all think I was a cool guy then, wouldn't they.

Who am I kidding. If there was ever a name you didn't want to have during any given year of your education, it's 'Pothead.'

- **x** -

I didn't tell anyone on the following Monday about smoking; not the teachers, not my friends. It hadn't made me feel any better or worse than what I already felt - it really only made reality and dreamland fade within one another, and made my clothes smell funny.

I had been given five blunts that weekend, and I can tell you now, going to school was a bitch. It probably would have been bearable, if it weren't for my constant daze. And then, we began learning about drugs and alcohol in Health. 

Wasn't that just a great coincidence? At least, for the mean time, school was looking out for me. A home away from home, of sorts, that I didn't mind escaping to. For a while, at least.

They'd given us a talk about drugs and alcohol, mainly marijuana, and scared the ever living fuck out of me. _I could hallucinate? My brain would be fucked for the rest of my life? It could lead to life threatening decisions?_

Uncle G probably knew all of that too, but he couldn't give a damn so long as we'd smoked it all before the cops came around after being he'd been reported by the neighbours. Two weeks after that incident, they moved out after their two dogs mysteriously disappeared; ending up in our possession under different names, unregistered.

I was called from my bedroom at 3:04am on a balmy Saturday night, out to the backyard where Uncle G was, undoubtedly, getting high and drinking. Both dogs barked at me when I got to the back door, viciously snarling at me through the screen.

"How do I get out?" I asked, clenching my jaw to keep me from bursting into tears.

He snorted from outside, making his appearance in the doorframe of the shed. "Just come out. They ain't gonna hurt ya." His beer gut grew larger, and the gruff tone to his voice suggested he wasn't in the mood for my antics.

I scrunched my nose. They'd bitten me three times before, and I'd been attacked by the larger one twice, to the point where I currently should have had stitches in my right wrist. Instead, I adorned a blood-soaked bandage where blood still flowed from the gaping wound.

Chances were, it would get infected. But of course, Uncle G didn't care about that. At least the school nurse could help me on Monday, perhaps even stitch it up herself and treat it properly.

I tentatively walked out of the back door, and the two dogs stared up at me, daring me to step forward. I swallowed, scared. But I had to do it.

Carefully, I walked over the the shed, keeping my arms by my side and my gaze forward. The dogs followed my every move, but I didn't look them in the eyes. I payed them no mind and kept my sights set on Uncle G sitting in his chair, cigarette in one hand and can of beer in the other.

"See, you're not as much of a pussy as I thought you were," He chuckles, ruffling my hair and wrapping his fingers around the collar of my pyjama shirt. "C'mon, let's have some fun."

It was almost the end of sixth grade by now, and I held onto the hope that maybe things would be looking up. Of course, I didn't enjoy the fact that Uncle G forced me into smoking weed with him, but I sure as hell can't say I didn't enjoy it.

All of my fantasy dreams came true, and I saw things I'd never imagine I could see before. I could reach out and touch swirls of colours, I could feel my mind go numb and welcome the warm embrace of a mother who wasn't really there, but appeared to me when I was out of my mind, drugged up on dope.

It was a bittersweet bliss, and I found myself beginning to welcome it, rather than oppose myself to it.

As the last week of sixth grade came around, I tried my hardest to do well in school so I could reward myself with time in the garage; alone. Uncle G got himself a job at a liquor store, and he often worked late into the night on weekdays, which gave me plenty of time to break into his stash and enjoy myself without feeling pressured.

I was making my own decisions, for once in my goddamn life, and it all made perfect sense. Finally, I had the choice to do something that wouldn't cause me pain.

I invited Farlan over on the last Friday of the term, and told him I had something to show him that I thought he would enjoy. With no thought for consequence, Farlan agreed to come over, and we smoked weed in the shed until it was time for Farlan to go home.

"I can't even, like, I don't even know anymore," Farlan laughed, feeling his own fingers in awe. "Why didn't you let me do this stuff sooner? It's way better than the stuff my dad smokes. That stuff stinks like crazy."

"I know, I know," I smiled, taking another drag. "You wanna come back later? We've got all winter break."

Farlan grinned. "Hell yeah, this is the best thing ever." And in the minds of kids, it was. We felt like adults; the cool kind that doesn't give a single shit about the world or how it views them. The kind of adults that wouldn't care what their kids did or who they hung out with, so long as they were happy in life.

But we were wrong, and nothing could ever take back the moments we'd taken from ourselves in the times we thought we were doing something right for once.

Farlan's older brother found out, and if it hadn't been for Farlan's blackmailing against him, we'd have been found out. Luckily, we weren't, so long as we promised to share a little with him from time to time. I couldn't see how that was bad compensation, so I agreed, and that was that.

Thinking back, I wish he would have done the responsible thing and told on us. It would have saved us from a lot, if not all, of the struggles we endured years later.

 

* * *

 

Sixth grade ended almost as quickly as it began, and it was at this point that my perception of time grew more sensitive.

Suddenly, I was acutely aware of just how quickly time passed; and then again, just how slowly it could go if necessary. This high frightened and enticed me, especially as I sat across from Erwin in my bedroom one particularly cold winters evening. It was close to Christmas, and Mr Smith had come over bearing some news. Erwin was going to be studying abroad for the next few years, whilst he worked as the new manager at a popular, big time restaurant in Germany.

I couldn't believe my ears. I sat teary eyed at eleven years old, soon to be twelve, as my only real friend announced he was leaving me alone.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner Levi," He said with a sigh. "We've become pretty good friends, I didn't want to ruin that before I left."

"Why do you have to go to school over there?" I asked, almost begging. "Why can't you stay here and just live with us?"

I was only a child. I didn't see how it was fair that Erwin could leave that shithole of a town and I would have to stay behind. He stood up then, placing a hand on my shoulder as I tried to turn away from him. "It's better for dad and I... I'll give you my new number when I get over there, okay? I've got your email. I'm sure we can still be overseas friends."

But that's not the same. "Fine. Whatever."

"Hey now, can't you just smile a little? I don't want to have upset you before we leave. I'd hate to see that face every time we talked."

So we were going to talk. I offered him a small smile, and stood to hug him as he walked towards my door, but only briefly. He returned the hug gingerly, but I pulled away before my tears could spill.

"Bye, eyebrows," I muttered, frowning at the ground as Erwin chuckled beside me.

He ruffled my hair playfully, opening my bedroom door to leave. "See you, Levi. Don't get into too much trouble." And that was that.

Erwin and Mr Smith left without another word, and I crawled into bed with an empty feeling in my chest. Of course I had Farlan still, but as nice as he was, there was something about him that didn't seem right.

Erwin was different. Older, and not always easy to agree with, but different. He was like the older brother I'd never got; the one who could have shown me the ropes if lie, and been there for me when no one else was. Or when no one else was too busy with other, more I important things.

I couldn't help but think that was a shitty way to start Christmas break, saying goodbye to a friend. But there is always something just as shitty around the corner, if not shittier.

And that shittier something came to airs a few weeks after my twelfth birthday, sometime in late January.

School was back, and although seventh grade didn't sound anymore appealing than sixth, I stuck it out and went. There was no point in not attending, even if I was nervous about the marks on my lower left arm.

But who would know? Better still, who would ask? Farlan wasn't in my class that year, therefore, I could be as distant as I pleased. I didn't have to hang out with anyone; I didn't have to sit with a particular group in class, and I didn't have to speak to anyone. I had free will of everything that I did with my social life; I decided to listen and learn, and forget about everyone around me.

A few worried phone calls to Uncle G later, and I was sat on the couch in my living room across from the beast, who eyed me up and down as he lit a cigarette and smoked it in my face. I wanted desperately for him to flick ash on my body. I wanted to feel even the minimal burn, just to satiate my desperate need for emotional release.

No matter what people say, I've always been an emotional person. I cry, I get mad, I want to sleep for weeks on end instead of facing the world; but I made a promise to my mother, that I would be strong. In my eyes, strength meant showing no emotion at all, so no one would dare try to break down the walls you build around yourself.

I met a person who changed my view of strength many years after my childhood; but that's a whole other story.

Uncle G sighed, finishing his cigarette, seemingly oblivious to his uncomfortable I was just sitting and waiting. He hated it when I tried to talk to diminish the silence; but I _hated_ our silences. They never had a good conversation on the horizon.

"So," He starts, leaning his chin in his hands and resting his elbows on his spread knees. "I hear you've been giving your teachers shit, huh." To my surprise, he was completely sober.

I shook my head, hands furiously fiddling together in my lap. "No. I don't talk to the people in my class because I want to learn."

"You don't interact with them at all."

"I don't want to."

I didn't get a chance to redeem my stupid answer. Uncle G launched forward, a rage in his eyes I'd only ever felt bubble within the depths of my stomach. He didn't give me a warning. Raising a clenched fist, he delivered the first blow to my left cheek, and along with the feeling of being hit by a car, I heard the loud crunching of my jaw dislocating.

"You're a fucking embarrassment!" He shouted, lifting my shocked body by the collar and raising me into the air. "I just wanted to get some from you teacher, and you're out there fucking it up! Sorry excuse for a nephew, I shouldn't ever have taken you in!"

I know. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't-"

"Yeah, I know you fucking didn't!" He screamed, eyes bulging. He nearly threw me across the room, chuckling sadistically as my head hit the corner of the couch as he threw me to the floor with brute force.

I desperately needed to get away, but the tears stinging at my eyes blurred my vision. I didn't have a clear escape, and Uncle G had a clear objective. I was fucked.

Gripping me by the wrists, even as I yelled in pain, he lifted me onto the couch and began to undo the catch of his jeans. "If I can't get some from your hot ass teacher, I guess you'll just have to do, ungrateful runt. Open your fucking mouth!"

What more is there to say? I did only as I was told. I opened my mouth, and let him invade me with his sickening desperation. I choked around his unfortunate girth, and he laughed in my face, forcing me down upon it until tears spiller from my eyes and my dislocated jaw threatened to lock in place.

But apparently that wasn't enough.

Within seconds of his release, he'd flipped me over and torn off my school pants; I hadn't been home nearly ten minutes before he decided I needed to be punished.

If burning a cigarette into my arm felt like the metal of a seatbelt left in the heat, this was a house fire lit in my lower body. I screamed out in pain, begging him to stop as loud as I could, before my voice was lost amongst the pain.

I soiled myself as he released inside me, dirtying my school pants, and he yelled at me for it. "Don't be a fucking prick again, Levi. You're lucky someone like me would actually use you at all, you piece of shit."

I struggled to catch my breath, and lied there on the floor as Uncle G went out to the shed. I couldn't move. My legs felt like they were on fire, and my asshole burnt indescribably. I felt ill.

- **x** -

"Ew, is that _shit_ on your pants?"

"Aurou Bossard! Don't use that language again or you'll be sent to the principals office!"

"But look! Levi shat himself!"

A chorus of cruel laughter followed my newest bully's discovery, and I tried my best not to burst into tears then and there. It seemed my teacher didn't know what to do, and so she took me to the infirmary and got me a new pair of pants.

"It's a shame," She sighed to one of the nurses, assuming I hadn't been listening as I changed. "There's always one that isn't taught how to do basic things like go to the toilet. You'd think the parents would have taken him to a special school by now, all things considered."

She didn't have any right to even be near me. It was her fault that I was in that situation anyway. If she hadn't offered to be with Uncle G like he'd made it seem, I wouldn't have been touched at all. If she hadn't kept ringing him about me, then we wouldn't even have had that discussion. I could have gone to my room as I always did and let the time pass until the morning.

I was offered a plastic bag for my dirty pants, and a pitiful smile from both my teacher and the nurse.

But I didn't smile back.

As the lunch bell rang, I made my way around the school to avoid Aurou and his henchmen, until I reached the bathrooms and locked myself in a stall. If I was going to cry, I may as well have done it alone.

There wasn't any point in asking for comfort. I was twelve years old; what twelve year old shits themselves, anyway? I couldn't see how they didn't pick up in the fact that the stains on my pants were dry.

That stall found itself useful for me for many days following that one. I began to bring lunch in with me, even if I didn't eat it, or something to read. It wasn't like people used these bathrooms anyway, when there was a cleaner, newer block closer to the main building. With that in mind, I was free to sit out my lunchtimes on my own, without having to worry about who said what about me this time.

Even though Farlan hadn't bothered to talk to me at all since Aurou told him about my 'incident,' which wasn't even true, I didn't mind too much. The more people that stayed away from me the better. After all, the ones who came closer only ended up leaving me anyway. It was better if they didn't bother in the first place.


	3. Solitaire

Kutchel hugged her son close to her chest, petting his hair and rubbing circles on his back. Levi melted at the touch, the feelings of his mothers loving and gentle hand lulling him into childish bliss. "You need to promise me something, Levi," She starts, all attention focused on her tiny son.

He smiled, warmth shrouding him like a blanket. "What is it mama?" He questions. She could ask for anything; of course he'd do what she asked. Levi loves his mother dearly, and wouldn't ever what to disappoint her.

She hums, song-like and beautiful. "Promise that you'll always be strong. No matter what life throws at you, you need to be strong." She petted his hair even softer, making sure he was comfortable as they sat huddled in the closet. Levi had almost forgotten where they were, almost forgotten why they were hiding in the brook closet in the first place. He could hear his father shouting, another man shouting, the cocking of a gun and the echo of the shot hitting its target directly.

The sounds rang out in his ears, visualised in his mind, but his mothers careful touch to his cheek brought him back to the moment. "Can you promise to do that for me?" She asks, taking in his young and innocent features. He had so much promise, so much hope, all redeeming qualities reflected in the light of his blade-coloured irises.

Levi leaned into his mothers palm and closed his eyes.

"I promise."

* * *

 

It's hard enough practically being an orphan, but being the youngest and shortest in a year level full of bastards just tops the cake. It was around the same time that I began disassociating with the world that Uncle G dropped a bombshell that could have blown up in his face in that very moment.

It didn't though. I held it together. I'd learned to hold it together from a young age, forced to grow up and understand the world far too quickly. It was inhumane, really.

I wasn't coherent enough to argue with him anyway, as my limbs ached and my backside burnt viciously. My head was pounding, clouded over with a strange, ravenous breed of fear that clawed at my insides, making its was up my spine to latch onto my mind.

I began to have nervous tremors, to shriek when someone would put a hand on my shoulder; the teachers had told me to count to ten when I got anxious. But I also had to count to ten when Uncle G was kind enough to warn me of his ministrations upon my adolescent body - I just couldn't form the numbers anymore. I hated them. Loathed them, in fact.

Why would the teachers tell me to do something so dastardly in the school yard? Count to ten. What _bullshit_.

In that moment I had to ask myself: Why put myself through more trouble? I'd only feel it the next morning. So I didn't blow up in his face. In fact, besides the physical ache, I didn't feel anything at all.

I didn't let on that I felt anything at all.

"We're movin' in a few weeks," He said, puffing a cigarette in my direction as he lied on his bed. I crept closer and closer to his bedroom door to leave, wincing as bruises throbbed and burned on my body. "Too much mortgage here. We're gonna rent someplace cheaper. How's that sound?"

I didn't dare tell him the truth, didn't dare challenge his word. After all, they were law in this household; always were, and always would be.

I nodded. "Okay... I'm going to get ready for school now."

I left him in his room, swallowing the pain coursing through my body with every breath, and got dressed. It took me less time than usual to sprint down to the bus stop two blocks away from our house, as I didn't stop for anything. Not the traffic, not the leaking sewerage; not the angry dog kept off its leash in the front yard of our neighbours house, held back only by a flimsy, white picket fence.

If Uncle G decided he hadn't had enough from me, he'd come after me. That's why, not only did I take a bus so far out of my way I was always late to school, but I saved up the coins he would give me for lunch so I could catch the bus.

I mean, who needs to eat when getting out of the house before you're used and abused again is more important? I made it my first priority to escape that isolated little part of my world as quickly as I could.

It had always been home, when mom was alive. I couldn't wait to go home after day care or school, or even coming back from Farlan's place. It was a home that felt like a home. Then Uncle G fucked everything over, and I couldn't even refer to it as a house.

It was a torture chamber; a place of unavoidable run-ins with pain and suffering of a personal kind. I loved escaping it's clutches and spending my days wrapping school-issued toilet paper around my wounds, and creating make-shift pantyliners to stop the flow of blood from my torn hole.

Disgusting, filthy fucking pig. I curse his name whenever it dares to enter my mind.

The walk to the bus stop was agonising, but I made it. I had to make it. Even if I had to encounter another person who enjoyed making my life misery - who for some unknown reason found out my route to school and decided to make it his own. But he was the lesser of two evils, so I knew I'd made the right decision.

"Hey, Ackerman!" He shouted, pre-pubescent screech battling against the cars whirling past. That road was always terrifyingly busy.

It was just the two of us waiting there that morning. With that knowledge, I swallowed hard. I could do it. I was strong, stronger than he'd ever be. Maybe not physically, but mentally. I could do it. I wasn't weak.

I rolled my eyes, sitting on the garden wall of the house behind us rather than beside him beneath the shelter. "What."

"Don't be so hostile, buddy. What's up? How ya been?"

I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as he leans over the star at me. "Why do you care, Aurou?"

He shrugged. "I'm just asking, Christ. How can your alcho-uncle shove his dick up your ass if there's a giant stick up there too?"

My shoulders tensed, that burning sensation much more prominent. _I could punch him. I could kill him right here, right now, and no one would ever find the body._ "Duly noted, thanks." _I could stab his aorta, or slice his trachea with a fence post, watch as he suffered the pain I had to endure every moment of my freaking life._

But I didn't. I wouldn't.

At least, not in public.

Besides, if Petra somehow found out that I'd killed Aurou, she'd never go out with me. I had to hide the blush that formed across my cheeks as the bus pulled up, just from thinking about her.

She'd moved from Prague and didn't know much English. I made it my goal to teach her as soon as she'd introduced herself, but Aurou beat me to it. How, I don't know why, but it didn't deter me. She made having to deal with Aurou just a little more bearable. I was going to enjoy some aspect of my school life, even if it was only staring at Petra from the back of the classroom. She was beautiful. She was the one.

I may have only been thirteen, but I was in love. And she didn't even know I existed - but Aurou helped me with that. _What a fucking saint._

We both got on the bus, Aurou pushing past me to his seat at the back. It always smelt like body odour and Axe back there; I didn't bother with those people, simply because I didn't want to smell like them and I wanted to be as invisible as possible.

I guess you can't always have what you want.

"Hey, Ackerman shat his pants!" Aurou shouted, pointing at the back of my pants as I turned to sit down. "Don't you do laundry? Or is that different shit from last week?"

I knew what he was talking about: the blood. I hadn't washed it off, I didn't know how to use the machine.

I stammered to find the words, thousands of eyes tearing back at me from behind the bars of a jail cell. "I-It's not shit! I sat in chocolate!"

Aurou rolled his eyes as the kids around us began to laugh. "You can't afford chocolate, you bloody pilgrim!" He cackled, sneering at me like an animal. The bus driver yelled at us to sit down, but even as we did so the taunts didn't stop. They threw wads of saliva-coated paper balls, made rude gestures, even dared to reenact something they had no idea about in my ear.

Even Petra cracked a smile. It made my insides squirm.

I got off at the next stop, and I didn't go to school. I didn't go home, either - it's not like there was one to go to anyway. Instead, I made my way to the local park and waited out the day there.

It wasn't the first time I'd done that, but it certainly wasn't a fantastic way to pass the length of a school day. It didn't even cure boredom, watching ducks get fatter and fatter with each slice of bread thrown their way, but it was better than being anywhere else.

Even if I hated the way ducks seemed to have no purpose in life, I couldn't help but feel some sort of attachment to them, and never once thought that there was anywhere else I'd like to be.

I'm like a duck, I'd thought. I take and take and take, even if I don't want to, simply because I'm being given something. They probably don't want anymore bread, but they eat it anyway, because it's there. I don't want to live with Uncle G, but I do because it's better than living on the street.

Fucked up thoughts, right? It wasn't better. It was Hell. Any street corner would have treated me better than my own half flesh and blood did.

But I was thirteen. I wasn't an adult, I was barely even a teenager. How could someone who couldn't figure out how to work a washing machine make ends meat and live safely? They can't. I couldn't.

I really had nowhere else to go. Not even Farlan spared me a glance anymore, unless it was to force an apologetic smile upon his face as he watched me fight of my abusers with dirty looks and scared, pitiful pleas.

You think you know people.

- **x** -

Agony wracked my entire body, begging me to stop, but I had to keep going. We had a deadline to meet, and whether I did it all on my own or had all the help in the world wouldn't change that fact. I had to be strategic, strong, and fucking resilient; God only knows what little willpower I had left, but even that wasn't doing much to keep me going.

But I had to do everything in my power to make sure everything got done, whether that be walking over to the neighbours in near tears to ask for the help I wasn't getting, or to power through, ignoring my bruised and battered limbs to get the job done myself.

Oftentimes, it was the latter. I lifted desks and bed frames and wardrobes on my own, trying desperately to ignore the aching in my shoulders and in my head. I pushed forward, reluctantly, my only motivation being the hatred I felt towards Gerald; I needed to stomp my feet as I walked, and accidentally on purpose bash objects into my body, causing it to bruise.

It wasn't the best way of coping, but it was by far the safest. I took my anger and hatred out on the furniture, lifting it high above my head and storming out to the trailer, all whilst Gerald got drunk or continued to berate me about what a terrible job I was doing.

He didn't even have Mr Smith there to get drunk with; he got drunk by himself, or took his business to the bar and came back anywhere between midnight and high tide.

He called me lazy, and useless, and pathetic numerous times over, but the words that once wounded me left me feeling refreshed. They added fuel to the hate fire burning within me that kept me going, until I finally passed out on the wooden floor of my empty bedroom, one stifling day in the dead of summer.

It was the day that could very well be the marked turning point of my descent into semi-permanent madness.

I was laid out on my bedroom floor when I woke up in the late evening, startled by the slamming of the front door. I rushed downstairs not a second later, fearful that Uncle G would be waiting for me. But he wasn't.

Instead, there was a chicken-scratch note written on pad paper, sat precariously on the kitchen bench. Uncle G was out for the night, and I had the house to myself.

The glee I felt could only be masked by the intense feeling of terror in my stomach; I hadn't had the house alone to myself in years. I was free to do whatever I wanted, without paying mind to the consequences, or the potential beatings, or Uncle G forcing himself upon me like I deserved what he was doing to me and I just had to take it or he would-...

I hadn't noticed when tears began to fall down my cheeks. I hadn't noticed the way my fists were balled in my own shirt, mimicking his actions against me.

I hadn't noticed the package of cigarettes left unattended on the benchmark just a few centimetres away from a lighter.

An overwhelming emotion took control of my body, one that I'd never really payed much attention to before; I couldn't even describe it. I couldn't then, and I certainly can't now.

Anger, fear, guilt, loathing; emptiness. It was aimed at everyone, including myself. Mostly myself, really. And I couldn't handle it anymore. What it was, I couldn't even pin point. The stares, the stains, the feeling of never being good enough yet apparently being just fine to use over and over again, with absolutely no regards for feelings or thoughts.

Oh well, I guess I didn't matter much to anyone. Why would you care about the thoughts and feelings of someone who meant nothing to anyone? Who meant nothing to even themselves?

On a whim, I lit up a cigarette. I was going to smoke it in the house; to see what he felt when he smoked them, to maybe increase my chance of lung cancer and die a slow, painful death. But I supposed this was a far better way of using it.

Afterall, I didn't want to increase my risk of lung cancer. After breathing in the second hand smoke from an indoor smoker for most of my life, I was pretty positive I was fucked anyway.

I pushed the burning butt against the skin of my arm, just outside of the joint where the wrist is. It hurt like hell, but once the initial hurdle was crossed, I didn't feel the pain so much anymore. I felt relief, and an overwhelming sense of calm - completely contradictory to what I'd felt only moments before. All of the loathing and guilt vanished instantly, and I was instead washed clean of my sins by my own hand.

It was wonderful, nothing like I had ever imagined it would be.

Could hurting yourself really make you feel this way, if you truly deserved some relief from the pain you already suffered? Or did I really deserve the extra pain, and the emotional numbness was simply a side effect of knowing I was fucked.

I didn't even think about the consequences; no questions or need for an explanation of the wound crossed my mind. I simply let it be what it was, and burnt another spot into my arm just a little higher up. It was easier the second time, both as the butt had had a chance to burn out a little, and I knew the gist of what to expect.

I felt calm, at ease; nothing in the world could hurt me, so long as I could one up the pain on my own. I knew wholeheartedly that I could do that. No one hated me as much as I hated myself, and that would always be the case. I was unloveable, and that was totally fine with me. I didn't want to be loved anymore. If I couldn't love myself, no one could, and that's just the way I saw it.

That's just the way it was.

I wanted more, to hurt even more; to press the lit end of the cigarette deeper into my flesh, so it would leave a permanent scar that never faded. But I was tired. Many days of work and fighting had left me restless at night, and I hadn't slept properly in over three days.

It appeared I'd reached my limit. So, I bummed out the rest of the cigarette on my arm, gritting my teeth as it aches so incredibly well. I flicked the left over ash into the tray beside the couch, satisfied. It looked out of place, in my eyes, but I figure that moment must have been the beginning of an enormously long time I would spent feeling guilty about what I did.

- **x** -

Beginning on June 1st, 2010, I had two weeks to myself in the new house.

It wasn't too far from the old one, really, which meant I could still manage to make my way to and from school. I could also walk to the food store to buy whatever I needed. It was also pretty close to the park I liked to spend my bad days at.

Uncle G left for a gambling trip. What he even did to earn money at that point was beyond me, but I didn't particularly care. He could be doing burlesque acts for Korean marines for all I cared - he was out of my hair for fourteen whole days, and I couldn't have been happier.

I chose to walk to school most days, and Farlan's parents usually drove me home. I enjoyed the extra, welcomed company, happy to be spending time with my old friend again without worrying about what people would say about Farlan for hanging out with me. They picked me up from a different spot than they did him, a few streets over, but I was more than happy for that so long as I could spend time with him and not worry.

People began to talk to me more, though, which was nice. Not people like Aurou, or people like Petra, but teachers and people I didn't even know. They'd say I looked happier, sometimes even ask to sit beside me in class.

What had I done to deserve that? I couldn't answer, but I was living my prime in those sparse days of freedom.

And then it came crashing down again, as good things often do.

Uncle G came home a week early, drunk off his head, to Farlan and I eating a box of take-out pizza in the living room. We weren't using plates, and we were sitting on the couch; he went ballistic.

Farlan didn't call the cops. When his attempts to get Uncle G to calm down didn't amount to anything, he simply left. I endured Uncle G's wrath alone, cowering in the cob-webbed corner of the garage as he threw glass bottles at me from afar. He yelled and berated me for disrespecting him, and for having no respect for his property.

Two slaps to the face and he kicked me in the stomach, before dragging me upstairs to punish me further.

I hadn't experienced agony quite like what I did that night. Lying bloody and bruised and beaten and filthy on the floor of the bathroom was my lowest low, and not a single happy moment of the previous week could appear in my mind.

I tried desperately to get up and fight my mind, to seek something to fight for, but I couldn't.

I didn't deserve to be happy, because when I was, there was always that horror to go back to.

 

* * *

 

On the night of my fourteenth birthday, after an uneventful and rather dull Christmas Day, I had my first alcoholic drink. Usually you're started on light beer or spirits, but Uncle G hit me with straight vodka when I woke up.

He said it was to celebrate the beginning of my 'manhood.' Though, how he was celebrating I wasn't sure; I was passed out for most of the day.

Farlan Church came over the next day, just as Uncle G left for work. It was as though he'd timed it, waiting for him to leave so he could see me. My heart raced when I opened the door to his smiling face, and I grabbed my snow jacket from upstairs as quickly as I could to head out with him.

We didn't talk about school, or what used to be, or what may or may not be. We just stayed together, throwing snowballs and laughing and forgetting everything that didn't matter in those moments.

And then he asked me how I was doing, and I all but broke down in his arms.

I didn't tell him everything. I mentioned Uncle G, and moving houses, and the dogs that viciously tormented even my sleeping moments. He didn't say anything, only listened.

I made a Facebook account when we got back to my house, and added him immediately. We chatted for months on end after that, every evening after school, just talking or sharing our feelings.

We were in similar situations, surprisingly. Farlan was dealing with the separation of his parents and a few personal problems, and I listened and have whatever advice I could. I was having personal issues with school and Uncle G that I didn't really go into, and he listened and gave the best advice he could.

Just like that, I wanted nothing more than to share my life with him.

It was early January the next year when I mentioned the incident with the cigarette, in a phone call around one in the morning after Uncle G bruised my body in his intoxicated state.

It was after that when Farlan stopped talking to me.

It was weird, really. I'd never fallen quite so hard for someone, who had shown me generalised kindness on only two occasions - over Facebook. I struggled to even form an idea of why that would happen. I mean, we'd been friends for years, but we hadn't hung out explicitly for a long, long time.

I couldn't help the soft, stinging tears that grouped in my eyes, threatening to drown my tear ducts with their bittersweet salt. I wanted desperately to send him a message. Even just 'hey how are you,' but it didn't matter. I just didn't want him to see my name come up on his messenger, and have him roll his eyes or mute the conversation.

So, I held back. I wanted to, of course, send him some apology for whatever it was that made stop talking to me. Or to ask what I'd said or done that drove him away - but I had a fairly solid idea of why that was already. Uncle G had made that perfectly clear to me, and although I didn't have confirmation of the truth of it all, it unfortunately made the most sense.

 _'His mother probably didn't want him hanging around with a fuck up like you_ ,' Uncle G had said, as he sipped from a large glass of whiskey. ' _Farlan's going to be a successful kid, whether he's had a dark past or not. He wouldn't want to be friends with some loser who calls him in the middle of the goddamn night because he doesn't want to be around his father figure.'_

I'd asked him why Farlan wouldn't just tell me that, and Uncle G simply snorted. ' _There's no way his mother would want him around you, boy. You called that poor kid in the middle of the night, without any explanation whatsoever, as far as you've told me. If it were me, I wouldn't want my kid hanging around someone like that. You're just a burden; simply dead weight.'_

 _You're just a burden. Simply dead weight._ As straightforward as ever, I'd noted. Uncle G didn't cut the corners with me, whether he was sober or highly intoxicated or half way there. He said it exactly how it was, and that was what pained me the most when he said what he did.

It made sense, really. As if Mrs Church would want me dragging her son down into my pit of darkness, when he'd already escaped his own.

And as if he'd want to hang around someone like me for any longer than he already had. I'd made his life hard enough by asking him for advice. I'd pestered him enough with my stupid, useless, pathetic cries for help.

I was a burden to everyone; _simply dead weight._

- **x** -

Soon Uncle Gerald began to take me to and from school, leaving me with no option but to attend Hell and then return to it in another form.

He watched my every move. There wasn't a single time I was alone, except when I crept to my own room in the early hours of the moment, wincing at the pain coursing through my body as I desperately tried to remain silent. If he heard me, I'd be punished more.

I was watched at all times. He would watch as I went to the bathroom, and force me to leave the door open when I showered. I couldn't even do my homework without him breathing sickeningly in my ear, begging me to assist his needs.

I was an object often abused, simply there for pleasure and relief. I wasn't even considered human in his eyes.

So I decided to join the schools wresting club. They called it 'Fight Club,' to make it seem cool, but after visiting the venue for my first and last session, I decided it was actually pretty boring.

Besides, I was too weak to successfully wrestle someone back then.

Gerald would let me stay at 'school' until seven each day, and then I would walk home. In reality, I stayed at the park as I used to, passing the time by eavesdropping on people's conversations or staring at the calming water for hours on end.

Two times a week I'd be joined by an old woman who fed the ducks, and she would offer me bread to feed them. I don't know if she noticed how much of the bread I ate myself and how much of it was actually fed to the ducks, but I don't think she minded either way. We both had company, and that was all that mattered. Besides, she was better company than Gerald would ever be.

But one night she didn't turn up, and I hadn't seen her since then.

Even as cooler weather approached, I stayed out there, in nothing but the small shorts and tank top offered for Fight Club. It wasn't until I endured four terrible, untreated colds and three bouts of pneumonia that I decided I would need to hang out somewhere else to pass the time.

And so one night in early December, at fourteen years old, I made my way to a shady-looking bar just east of the park. No I.D was necessary there, which made access easy. I even ordered my first alcoholic drink, one which wasn't mixed by Gerald.

And then I began to rely on it.

One night I got particularly handsy, shoving the guy beside me angrily, growling at him to move away from me. I was seeing shadows and monsters that attacked my vision from all angles, hazing my mind. I threw a punch, he threw several, and we both ended up on the ground in a scrap. This was our first meeting.

He spat on the ground, narrowly missing my swelling face. Neither of us we in good shape, but the cheering and whistling of the equally-drunk people around us only egged us on. "Show some respect to your upperclassmen, asshole," He sneered, wiping blood from his nose.

I glared up at him, hatred burning in my eyes, doing the same. "Pigs wallow in their own filth; I wouldn't ever give an animal like that respect."

We were kicked out, but both returned the next night.

I would sit at the bar, drinking as people came and went as the night drew on, slowly loosing inhibition. Alcohol made me more confident, completely erasing the woes that I so worried about on the daily.

It even gave me the courage to speak the older kid who began to drink beside me, long after out first encounter, Nile Dawk. He was seventeen while I was fourteen, and had already dropped out of school. I simultaneously decided that I wanted to be like him, and not be like him.

All in all, my escapades at the bar numbed the sensations I felt when I returned home. He was always too drunk to smell the alcohol on my own body, so I didn't need to worry about that. And I was always too fucked off my face to even register the pain, until I doubled in the morning when I woke with a splitting headache and burning between my legs.

My decisions made school hard; but I endured it to go without pain of a different kind. And it was worth it, honestly.

I liked being unable to remember what I went through. It was as if everything was okay, and I could ignore it all a little better.


	4. Headlights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I usually try to update everything in succession, but this story just isn't coming to me as easy as ATIA and the others did/do. I write based on experiences: memories and stories I've heard either by friends or in passing conversation. It's usually then that I can speed-write nearly a full chapter of a fic and be almost completely happy with it. However, SIIA is very different. I've really only experienced minimal aspects of this fic, and that is self-harm (among other things). I get all other inspiration for this younger Levi from a couple of friends of mine, who have given the a-okay for that to be published.  
> (Cont. below)

Kutchel Ackerman held her tiny son close to her, cradling him as he breathed sweetly against her chest. Barely-ten-minutes-old Levi has long since stopped crying, and grappled at his mother's hair and clothes with his pudgy little fingers. She couldn't help but smile, knowing that someone as broken and seemingly unloveable as her could bring something as beautiful as this into the world, and love it enough to keep it.

'He's so small,' She'd whispered, voice breaking ever-so-slightly as her brother stood beside her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. He'd never been more proud of his sister.

'He's gonna be a fighter, this little feller,' Kenny smirked, looking down at the tiny human. He tried not to let his admiration show too much, but he didn't hide his disdain. 'I ain't never seen a baby hold onto life like that. He's goin' places.'

'He did hold on, didn't he?' Kutchel ran her thumb lovingly over the chubby folds of Levi's arm, unable to comprehend the feeling of such an innocent thing comfortably lying in her arms. 'Maybe he wouldn't have had to struggle of those damn paramedics showed up on time...'

'There's no results without a struggle, yanno.' Kenny placed his hand on his sister's shoulder. 'But it doesn't matter. He's safe, he's sleeping - he's gonna do great things... Pity his father couldn't be here to see him, the piece of shi-'

'Kenny, please. Don't bad mouth him. Without him, Levi wouldn't-...'

'Sorry, Kutch.'

Kenny moved to pull up a chair beside his sister, bringing her over a glass of water. 'Gerald is coming back into town next week.'

Kutchel paled. 'Is that so.'

'Unfortunately... I'm leaving about the same time, too. But I asked Nile to keep an eye on everything over here. His missus is gonna bring over some baby crap and some food and stuff. I payed 'em, so you don't have to worry about expense for a little while. And you've got my number and theirs if you need anything, okay?'

'Marie is lovely. As is Nile, I suppose...' Kutchel smiled once more as Levi stirred, a small gurgle emanating from his tiny body. She brought her lips down to press a gentle kiss to the forehead of her newborn. 'Father or not, family or not, Levi will grow up strong. He's an Ackerman now - it's etched into his bones. He may be small, but he's going to do big things. I can feel the way his heart beats with a purpose. Someday, he's going to change someone's life.'

 

* * *

 

It's painfully safe to say that ninth grade wasn't the best year of my life. It got to the point where saying, 'I'm used to it,' wasn't even pitiful anymore; it was simply the truth. I was used to it. I was used to the pain, and the hesitance in my own voice, and the way I would tread lightly wherever I walked out of fear of crushing one of the many eggshells beneath me.

I was used to walking with my head down, counting pavers as I paced my steps only two steps behind whoever I was with; speaking only when spoken to, staying the hell out of everyone's way. I was small enough to do that, usually, but I made extra sure that I was on my knees before I had to be asked.

Pathetic, isn't it? How someone can go from loving and being loved, to living in fear of even the slightest noise outside of your bedroom door. After mom died, everything was terrible. Especially ninth grade. But tenth grade was so much worse. I mean, what's worse than a fucked up, drugged up, friendless freshman? That's right: a fucked up, drugged up, friendless _sophomore_.

Suddenly, you're an adult. You attend school to pave the way for your future, however bright or bleak you may think it to be. It's as if you don't actually have a choice in the matter, because teachers end up telling you that half the subjects you want to choose aren't going to be of any benefit and this is better and that's not right _and just listen to what we're saying Levi, we have more experience in this area than you do you're only a child._

Yeah, I was. I was only a child, and they all knew that, but suddenly I had to be an _adult_ and accept being spoken to and treated like a _child_.

Stupid, isn't it.

But when you've lived off of cheese, mayonnaise and McDonalds for the break between year levels, going back to school is like a blessing. Even if teachers and student alike are assholes.

You can't afford the cafeteria food, but even just the smell of mashed cow parts is exhilarating. You can't afford new shoes, but your toes aren't quite poking through the soles; not yet anyway. You can't join any extra curricular clubs or activities because you're weak, but that doesn't stop you from faking an email or two to say that you did. I was fourteen in tenth grade, as I turned fifteen in the December, but even that didn't stop Gerald from fucking me up just to knock me down again. That's why I did it, I guess. Maybe I wanted a sense of independence; but it was mostly just a chance to stay out of the house.

I put my name down for the wrestling team. Most of the student body referred to it as 'fight club,' probably to sound cool or tough or whatever, but I didn't care what it was called. Trainings ran on Thursday evenings for two hours, and if there was anywhere I wanted to be on a Thursday night, it wasn't the place I had to call home.

I turned up to the first meeting at a lunch time in early May, where I was met with the snickering faces of people I didn't want to spend extra time with, but would happily punch in the face if the rules allowed it. Or pretend it was an accident if they didn't. I've always been adjustable, flexible in my own ways.

Beating the system has always come naturally to me, I guess.

And so, I beat the system in my own way. I signed up for fight club, and every Thursday, would spend my time at the park. From the time school concluded to half an hour after the designated time for fight club to finish, I remained at the local park in the city, both relishing the moments I had alone and dreading the moments I would have to spend in the company of other people.

It shouldn't have had to be like that. In fact, it shouldn't ever have to get to a point where you'd rather feel lonely than be alone in the company of others. But it did, and honestly, beating myself up in my mind was far better than enduring the physicality of what could have been.

But it was, and I had to deal with it in the only way I knew how; _drugs_.

Gerald didn't bother locking the house up, not when it was only my safety at risk. He couldn't give a shit about me, so long as he could defend himself agains whatever idiot decided robbing out house would be a good idea.

So one night I snuck whatever I could from the shed into my bag, including a wad of cash I didn't even know he'd been hiding. It was stored so well I doubted he'd even know it was missing.

That day, I went to school, waiting out the day as best I could, got changed for fight club, and then I went to the park and wasted the evening with a bag of white power, a syringe, and whatever the fuck was in the cracked vile. I found a more secluded spot and injected myself, now far too familiar with the sensation of the cold substance running beneath the skin and tingling it's way through muscle and tissue.

It didn't take long for the affects to kick in, and within half an hour, I was running on some heroin-induced high. That city was fucked up, so much so that the liquor store allowed a clearly drugged up kid to purchase alcohol. I barely looked ten let alone fifteen, but I got ahold of a bottle of bourbon and downed it in record time.

I don't remember much of that night, only that I somehow made it back to my bedroom safely, and without any word from Gerald. He didn't even know I'd been out later than I usually was.

And then something happened. Something within my adolescent brain ticked over as I lay in a daze on my bed, barely awake at three a.m. It's like I'd somehow flicked a switch that flooded painful realisations into my mind, hiding rational thought behind thick clouds if dark and grey.

I'd lost people I care about. I made people angry and frustrated. I made myself angry and frustrated. I was nothing I was supposed to be. I wasn't out partying, or socialising, or smiling, or being happy. Teachers would say to me, "I can't deal with this." I had to ask myself: with what? With me?

Of course it was me. Nobody can deal with me, not even myself.

Every battle I fought against was a lost cause, simply reminding myself that I was like an emotional time-bomb, ready to explode at any unspecified moment.

I scared myself sometimes, the way my mind would formulate rational reasons as to why it was okay to destroy myself one breath at a time.

I was done. It was over. My mind replayed hideous words over and over as my stomach twisted and my mind reeled in pain. You're worthless. You're pathetic. You're a fuck-up. You're unwanted, broken. It's no wonder everyone leaves you or abuses you.

These things hurt, but I couldn't help but understand that they were true. Worthless, pathetic, unwanted: none of these words could even begin to define the loathing I felt for myself. Even the very air I breathed was tainted. But I was getting what I truly deserved - suffering. I was suffering on the inside as well as the outside, and while it may have originally been because of the drugs, the realisation that I was a down-right fuck up of a broken teenager didn't help at all.

I hated not being able to communicate my feelings because I didn't know how to. I hated not being able to ask for help without sounding stupid, because I didn't know how to. I hated having to pretend because it made others upset, yet I hated not pretending because then I had to face the reality too.

I'd wanted to die for so long and I hadn't even realised it. But then I did. I realised that it felt wonderful to lose control, to lose inhibition and let my own primal desires run free. I was sick of not being good enough, of not trying hard enough. I had to try it, because for once in my life, I wasn't scared of death. I was ready to embrace it with open arms. Even if those arms took the physical form of death.

I remember that night as clearly as I would remember any other night I was sober. I could remember everything from stealing drugs from the garage to lying awake at some ungodly hour of the morning just begging for death. But I knew I wouldn't be granted that relief.

Most of all, I just wanted to _forget_. I wanted to forget my past, and forget any kind of future the universe had in store for me. With how things were going, it wouldn't be a bright one.

But how can you forget something that plagues your memory even eight years into the future?

- **x** -

Isabel Magnolia was Farlan's girlfriend. A pretty young girl with the kind of attitude that just naturally draws you in. We'd spoken a few times, mainly when complaining about a teacher or Aurou, but it wasn't until that afternoon when I really got to know her.

Farlan had notes for me from psychology class, since I'd missed a great deal after catching some sort of phenomena. It was almost left untreated, but due to a noise complaint the cops were at our door around the same time I started shivering uncontrollably as I threw my guts up in the living room. Gerard drove me straight to the hospital, with a great deal of hatred verbally inflicted upon me. Anyway, Farlan was running late, and so I said I would wait for him in the parking lot - it was safer in the east parking lot, as Aurou and his cronies took the bus from the south.

Isabel stood at Farlan's car, and gave me a wave as I approached. Two guys led her side, and clearly I didn't do a good enough job of hiding my confusion. She rolled her eyes playfully, bringing me into an unwanted but not unneeded hug. "Before you ask, no I'm not cheating on Farlan. They owed me for a couple of favours."

"I didn't think that," I said, perhaps a little too fast. She held a full syringe in her hand - I didn't need to ask what it was. I raised an eyebrow. "You're a dealer?"

She smiled. "Yeah, kind of. Only on occasion though. I don't wanna go messing up people's business so young, you know? And-... Why, you interested?"

 _No_. "Yes." _Why_?

Why not?

And that was that. I sealed the deal with a single word, one that my brain barely even processed before it had left my lips and the damage was done. Isabel managed to wrangle $60 out of me (which I'd acquired from Gerald's garage, no doubt), and in return I was rewarded with a half-filled snap-lock bag of heroin.

"Treat it well," was what she told me, before Farlan appeared with an innocent smile and my notes in his hands. I couldn't bare to even look at him; not after he kissed Isabel with so much passion, so much love, and then brought me into a bone-crushing embrace.

How could I have been so stupid?

Of course it would damage me. Thats it's purpose, that's what I wanted; that's why I said yes. But it would damage him - them - too. I didn't have any regard for the lives of the friends, or friend, who I undeniably had. Sure, his mom didn't like me, but that didn't mean he wasn't still my friend.

It would have been nice if he'd shown his friendship a little more often though.

"How've you been?" Farlan asked, just as something in the back of my mind begged me to leave. I had to - there were things I had to do now.

"Good. _Great_ , even. We're moving houses again soon though, so that's going to suck," I said, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying too much. I always said too much - it was better to just not say anything at all. I'd learnt that firsthand.

Farlan smiled, crossing his arms. "That's great to hear, man. You've been looking a bit...off, lately. I mean, hey, it's none of my business - you're an old friend is all. I worry about you, Levi. You've always had your head screwed on right and all, but... Ah. Don't worry about it. I'm sure it's a change in the weather or something. We're all lookin' and feelin' a bit down, huh."

I choke on a bitter laugh. "Yeah, huh. I guess you're right."

"And hey, if you need any help with uh, the notes or anything, give me a call alright? I'll duck down and see what I can do for you."

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

Farlan and Isabel shared with me a parting wave, then got into his filthy truck and drove out of the carpark. I waited until the car was far out of sight before heading back into the school and leaving through the other carpark, where it was easier to get to the park. I wasn't ready to go home yet, even though it wasn't a fight club night. Instead, I took myself down to my park and sat beneath a large tree, huddled against the trunk as the sky broke open and flooded the earth.

Nobody came by that night, and I was left alone to inspect the power in the package and keep myself from shivering by rubbing my hands up and down my biceps. By the time night fell, I was sure I'd contracted some kind of sickness, and decided I'd rather be killed by human hands than by an illness, as ironic as that is.

Passing the train station, I caught a glimpse of someone shaking on the subway stairs, paying them no mind I continued in my way. But something drew me back to that memory several times that evening. All I could see was me sitting in those stairs, but I didn't know why.

Gerald's car wasn't in the driveway when I approached the place I called home, and I took that as a sign that that night wasn't going to be as bad as I thought it would be.

But it was.

As I walked up to my room, seeing all the half-packed boxes around me made my head hurt. I wanted to scream, but I didn't know why. We'd moved before - it wasn't anything new. But then again, moving meant being watched.

Moving meant me hauling boxes upon boxes of heavy crap backwards and forwards between the moving van and the house; building and rebuilding drawers; aching limbs from manual labour set on fire by ministrations that didn't fucking need to happen.

Before I knew it, I was standing in the bathroom with a razor in my hand, running my thumb along the blades gently. I knew I was going to snap. I'd thought of a bathroom suicide before - that's why bathrooms scared me, as odd as that is to say. Because I knew that if there were ever a place I'd be tempted to do it, it'd be in the bathroom. And it almost was.

After that thought crossed my mind, the rest of the evening went by in a tired blur.

I hadn't much control over my actions, but I had just enough to give myself some direction. In the time it took to break out the blades from the Gillette shaving razor with a pair of scissors, and retreat to the dark confides of my bedroom, my mind had time to fog over - but my eyes had their sights set on the pasty flesh of my forearms, porcelain and unmarred.

What perfect candidates they made for my self-destructive taste to be satiated.

I drew one of the three blades quick and deep across my forearm, and watched almost in horror as the fissure tore apart my skin easily. But it felt good. It felt really fucking good, especially as my mind was in a haze. Whilst my common sense told me I shouldn't do it again, watching the blood literally drip from the wound convinced me otherwise.

I dug the blade in a little deeper next cut, drew it across a little faster. It tore like the seam on a t-shirt, and flecked blood just a little ways away from the tear.

I couldn't help a sadistic smile as I dragged the blade over the skin of my left forearm again and again and again. This was a perfect sensation. It hurt like hell, and the blood accumulating from the seven large, deep cuts dripped carelessly onto my bed sheets and my pyjama pants. But I couldn't care less. I took this opportunity to switch hands and do the same to my right forearm, and although those wounds weren't nearly as refreshing as the ones on my left, they did the trick.

Five minutes of harming my arms had passed, and by that time, I sat relieved in the middle of my bed, watching calmly as fresh blood replaced the colour of my skin, dying it crimson. I knew these had to be bandaged. They were far deeper than anything I could ever have imagined, but even that thought told me I could go as far as to slice other parts of my body on this very night as well. Maybe even cut deep into the flesh of my lower wrists and slip a vein.

I made my way to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, careful not to let my blood drip onto the floor anywhere outside my own bedroom. I blotted the bleeding cuts with some paper towel to keep them from dripping, before reaching up and taking a large bandage from the cupboard. When I made it back to my room, I unrolled it and cut it in half so that I would have two bandages. This way it wouldn't be as suspicious; if by some chance Gerald thought to look for a bandage, he wouldn't notice one missing.

He wouldn't notice any of this, anyway. He was far too caught up in his own self importance that he couldn't bring himself to notice the little things about me that had changed.

After my arms were bandaged, I packed away my blades and stored them safely in a box atop my cupboard. It was so out of place that it didn't draw any attention to itself, so it wouldn't ever be somewhere people would look, dare they ventured into my room.

Whilst an unknown, almost unwelcome relief washed over me, the cloud above my head seemed to accumulate more rain. It felt heavier, darker. I knew I shouldn't have done it. But it was too late - the damage was done, and I wished to re-do it again and again. Seeing your skin sliced to shreds by your own hand is strange, but I welcomed it. I welcomed the knowledge that I was a fucking monster.

I deserved it. Everything I got, I deserved. Maybe I'd killed someone in my previous life or something, I don't know. Maybe I'd just caused mom too much pain. Whatever it was though, I knew I deserved to feel pain.

I'd tired myself out that night, both physically and emotionally exhausted. But I didn't sleep without the vision of my arms splitting open again and again plaguing my dreams.

 

* * *

 

It was humid, awfully so, and I felt like I was suffocating. But I wouldn't dare take off my jumper. It was keeping hidden everything I needed it to, and even if that meant I had to constantly wipe at my brows and pretend like I wasn't open-mouth breathing, I would have to suffer through it.

Maybe I didn't deserve to do what I did to myself, but I helped me feel something, and that something I could control. I couldn't control the other pain in my life, but this? I could control this. I didn't have to cut deeper, but I could. I didn't have to twist the cigarette as it pressed against my skin, but I did. I didn't have to self-harm at all; but I did, and it provided me with a sense of authority over myself and calamity I hadn't yet achieved.

I was never even pushed over the edge, as some might explain happens. I'd always self-harmed, ever since I was a child. Peeling off the whites of my nails, scratching at scabs until they were infected, not eating for days on end (both intentionally and unintentionally). I'd been doing that stuff subconsciously, most of the time, but it was still self-harming. What made burning and cutting so much more was the fact that I did it consciously. I underestimated the desperation and need until it was too late.

I looked down at my arms, at my thighs, and I could only think one thing: I'm repulsive. I'd never been an unattractive kid, even if some of the photos my friends took of me weren't very attractive. But seeing those marks, and marks left by my uncle, and knowing what thoughts coincide with them... What other word could I use? I was ugly, and repulsive, and impulsive and so fucking disgusting I couldn't even stand to- but not just on the outside. I was ugly on the inside too.

It was no wonder everybody left me.

Hell, if I could've left me I would have. Who would ever stick around someone as toxic and contagious as me? Some days, I'd think mom had gone and got herself killed so that she wouldn't have to deal with what I'd grown up to be. Surely she'd known what I'd turn into ever since I was born.

"Oi, Levi! Get yer ass over here!"

I didn't think my ass could stand to get over anywhere anymore.

Immediately, I place the box marked MICELLANEOUS and march over to Gerald. I wish I'd had the guts to tell him that at least I'd passed sixth grade spelling, but given the fact I was barely passing tenth grade, I didn't want to risk another bruised limb.

Letting out the breath I didn't know I was holding, I stood just half a meter in front of Gerald, who was lazed out on a crappy pull-out chair. "Yeah?"

"Movin' vans late. It's your job to pay them, I'm going out playing poker with the boys," He grunted.

I raised an eyebrow. Dangerous territory, I had to remind myself, but I had to ask. "Don't you need money for that?"

He raised a hand at me, and I flinched. But it didn't touch me - he just laughed. "I'm taking money. It's your job to pay them with your money, stupid."

"Where am I supposed to get money from?"

"Figure it out yourself. I'm leaving in five."

And he did. Gerald left in just under fine minutes, and two minutes after that, the 'late' moving van arrived to take what we'd ( _I'd_ ) taken out of the house and left in the driveway. Couches, bed frames, paintings; boxes upon boxes upon boxes.

All we had left in the house after that was a mattress in my bedroom.

Gerald was, no doubt, not coming home that night. I knew that much when he agreed to let me keep my mattress there for two more nights before we moved into the new, shabbier place. I couldn't work out why we needed to rent so far away from everyone and everything else. I guess, deep down, I should have known. Hell, I think I did. But who wants to face reality when the world in their mind is so much sweeter?

Ignorance really is bliss. So I stole $500 from Gerald's safe spot in the near-garage and handed it to the removal people, reminding myself to feign ignorance if Gerald asked about it. Chances were, he wouldn't. I think he forgot it was stashed away, anyway.

I mean, if he could forget that he was raising a child, it's a no-brainer he'd forget about a few lousy dollars left lying around, right?

I locked the front gate when the movers left, then locked myself in the house as lighting cracked open the clouds and flashed brightly against the pavement. In the distance, dark, ashen clouds rose from the hilltops I would soon call my home.

Feeling the scratch of the fabric of my sleeves and pants on tender flesh, and peering out at an angry Mother Nature as the subconscious of my mind reminded me of the silverware still left in the kitchen drawer, I couldn't help but see another danger to being alive. After all, what good is life if you're living in fear? Especially when you're living in fear of yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this little note to let you guys know that one of my friends (and one of my inspirations), passed away nearly a week ago. I don't want to go into detail about it, and I've tried hard not to let it out on any social media, but it's had a rather large affect on my life and that of my friends' lives. I apologise for the delay that is potentially being placed on this fic, but the atmosphere of it isn't really helping me cope with what's happened. If you're a reader of anything else I write, chances are they will be updated regularly as per usual, but I'd be waiting perhaps a good month for another SIIA update.  
> I'm sorry, and thank you for understanding.  
> Stay safe xx


	5. Char-Grilled Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... we are getting closer to finally catching up to Eren's introduction, but there's still a little more to work through with Levi. It's all important to the story, though. I would just like to warn you though that there could be some messy situations coming up, however I'm not completely certain yet. But I will tag accordingly. 
> 
> Also, thank you all for being patient with this update. I enjoyed being able to come back to it at my own pace and really feel what I was trying to write, rather than reach a deadline. Stay safe! xx

We moved out into the country when I was fifteen years old. We were far away from school, let alone civilisation. I felt completely and totally isolated, with nothing but the pain I inflicted on myself and the pain inflicted on me by Gerald to keep my occupied.

On my sixteenth birthday, I blew out a single candle on a muffin I bought from the corner store. When I made my wish, I wished I was dead. Over Skype, Farlan and Isabel clapped for me, hoping for my wish to come true. I smiled and thanked them, because god, I fucking wished it would too. I didn't see why they were so upset over the fact I was spending my sixteenth birthday alone in a house that wasn't completely moved into yet. Numbers didn't matter anymore at that point. I truly believed I wasn't going to see the turn of the double digits on the calendar, so I just agreed with what they had to say and hung up the call when it got too late for them.

Farlan sent me a private message over Skype a little over half an hour later though, telling me he felt like something was up, and he wanted me to know that he would always be there for me if I needed him.

I didn't reply, but I mentally told him I'd take him up on that offer.

Maybe.

I felt like I was playing a constant game of solitaire, even though I was surrounded by people five out of seven hellish days a week. Shouldn't that have been enough? God, I wished it was.

Not that I liked spending time with other people. If solitaire was the game I was put on this earth to play, then I damn well should've won some kind of prize for it. Metaphorically. I've never really enjoyed card games - I'm just not as good as I say I am, I'll admit that much. But I decided that I didn't want anything to do with these people anymore. They worried about someone who didn't worry about themselves. I know I don't like wasting time on people who can't try and reason with me - surely that's why I ended up the way I did. But I didn't want Isabel and Farlan to fall into my world. The only escape they'd have would be each other, and inevitably, I'd be left alone once again.

It would be for the best. I'd stay solitary, and they wouldn't have to deal with the bullshit I deal with every fucking day. Desperation, want, need. They're all words I think of when my skin itches to be torn apart. I hate the way I think about what I do when I'm not thinking, how I'm completely aware of what I've done to the point where it causes me to do it again and again because I like forgetting but remembering is so hard.

And what used to be desperation became a need. I had to cut myself. I could punch walls and bite my pillow and have showers on either end of the life-threatening scale, but none of its the same once you've tried something different that works. I almost lusted to dig a sharp blade into my flesh and watch as it beads blood and runs down my leg, pooling at whatever surface I let it fall upon.

Then it started to hurt. It used to be numb, and only when I would shower the next day would I feel just how much pain I'd inflicted upon myself. But I became dependent on the sensation, and that's when it started to hurt, because I didn't need to do it anymore - I wanted to. I knew it would help, although making it worse in the long run, and so that was my first course of action when things got tough. Bad test results? Cut myself. Disassociating? Cut myself. Afraid? Cut myself. Not hurting enough? Cut myself.

But it was much deeper than that. Those cuts were only small, never any deeper than .2 or so of a millimetre; they barely grazed the surface of my skin. It's when I hated myself that they were deep, deeper than any sane person could manage - but how sane can a person be if they hurt themselves intentionally? - and they bled for days on end no matter how much I tried to stop the flow.

I really, really hated myself. But it's not the kind of hatred I could ever express in words. It's not the hatred of my reflection, or the hatred of my life: I just hated me. As a whole. Completely. Everything about myself disgusted me, from the way I thought to the way I would over-think until actions seemed to be far more appropriate that just telling myself that I wasn't thinking straight.

I didn't want to take time to heal. I just wanted the pain to stop. That's why I fucked everything else over too. It seems like sometimes things do turn out in my favour, even if it pains me to realise that. There are still too many scars that aren't completely healed up, that are still keloid depending on the weather and the area they were done on.

Suddenly, my inbox became a plethora of unopened messages from Isabel and Farlan. I'd officially decided that pushing the people I loved away would ease the pain when we inevitably fell apart. If I didn't keep them away, then eventually I'd pull them into my orbit, and they too would fall apart. That's all I do, anyway. I ruin people who get too close to me. I decided that's why I didn't want anyone at all.

People are unreliable anyway. I'd rather trust nobody than have my trust broken.

Besides, keeping friendships - or what was left of them - would only bring more pain. And nothing harmless stops that pain. Self harm is like fighting fire with fire; it only adds to the flames and makes matters worse. Just because separating myself from my closest friends wasn't physically harming me, it still had an impact. I was self-harming in any way humanly possible, and it fucking hurt. In eleventh grade, I started to realise this. But I didn't do anything about it. I simply added fuel to the burning fire, and pushed myself to dance in the flames.

 

* * *

 

I felt like I was going crazy. It hurt to hurt myself, and yet I kept doing it. I needed to feel the pain because feeling empty all the time was unbearable. It was just as I dug the blade deep into my forearm and screamed out in pain when the landline rang, and the blood that still flowed inside my body ran cold. Gerald wasn't home: it was just me and my self-hatred. Could I really answer the phone? Was it safe?

I loosely bandaged the wound, knowing after the call I'd be right back in my bedroom to keep going, and made my way into the kitchen just in time to answer. I didn't even think that it could be Gerald ringing to see if I'd pick up. He banned me from using the landline, and if he knew I had a laptop he'd probably skin me alive, but it didn't cross my mind.

"Hello?" I answered, eyes glancing down to my right forearm where blood seeped through the already bloodied rag I'd wrapped around my cuts. _How ugly._

'Hello.' I recognised this voice, although barely, and my heart dropped. 'This is Erwin Smith. I'm looking for Levi Ackerman. Is this his residence?'

I swallowed and bit my lip. All attention went to my arm, and then to the man on the phone who once had so much hope for me. "Y-yeah. This is Levi."

 _I'm so sorry, Erwin. I'm not the Levi you're looking for_. He sighs, apparently relieved. 'I've finally found you. You'd be surprised how many Gerald Ackerman's live in your state.'

"How did you find this number, anyway? We've moved so many times."

I can't help the astonishment that finds its way into my tone. I was bewildered. He'd called multiple people just to find me. It was probably for a selfish reason, but nonetheless, he was looking for me. Out of seven billion people, he chose to call me.

I was thinking way into that.

'I noticed. I just happened to come across this place when I was looking for an apartment the other day. It was up for auction, right? Strange how the world works.'

"An apartment? I thought you would have stayed in Germany. Wasn't that the whole plan?"

Erwin chuckles, although it sounds hollow, lacks vigour. 'It was the plan, but... my father died two weeks ago. I couldn't stay there, as I don't have the qualifications to keep the classes running. I'm not needed there just yet.'

What was I supposed to say to that? The same bullshit that got spat my way with any passing glance someone shared with me. "I'm sorry."

'Mm. It can't be helped - either of those things. I was actually trying to get ahold of you to see if I could stay for a little while.' Selfish reasons. 'I understand if I can't, but I'm not having any luck in finding a place to stay. I'll pay board, if that's needed.'

I exhale, running my free fingers through my hair. I can already feel sweat dripping down my cheeks. Can I make this decision without Gerald around? What would happen? No. I know what would happen. But then again, he said he'd pay board...

"Can I get back to you?"

'It's kind of urgent. How long would you be? Once again, it's no trouble if I can't stay. I'm sure I'll find somewhere.'

No. I wouldn't let that happen to you. Everyone deserves somewhere to stay. "Actually, don't worry. You can stay. Just... it'll have to be secret from Gerald. Is that- can you do that?"

Erwin sounds sceptically, but chuckles breathlessly. 'Like a fugitive? Levi, if it's really that much of a problem... I don't want you to get in trouble for-'

"It's fine. You clearly know our address. Just get here before six p.m okay?"

Again, Erwin laughs. This time it sounds more humorous. "Actually, I'm out the front. I apologise for predicting what you'd say."

Truth be told, he was standing out the front. I leaned around the wall and looked out the kitchen window, where he stood in the driveway with a shabby-looking suitcase by his feet. He waved at me, a cheeky grin crossing his face.

I hung up the line and let him in through the front door. It really was some Dear John shit, I tell you: him standing out in the rain, waiting for me to let him in. He had a cellphone, clearly, which already made me jealous of him. But that jealousy quickly moved aside for the pity I felt when he trudged his way through the front door, dripping wet and looking downright hopeless. He'd sounded so okay on the phone.

I suppose we are all pretty good at hiding our real feelings.

I swallowed, taking in his disheveled appearance. "I'll get you a towel." I couldn't offer much else of mine - it wouldn't fit him - but as I gestured for him to wait at the front door I was hit with a spark of courage. "And a change of clothes."

He wasn't there. I could do this. He didn't have to know. I knew how to work a dryer, and thank god that was one of the appliances Gerald had actually already installed. I could let Erwin wear some of Gerald's older clothes, dry his own in the dryer, and then place everything back where it was before he got home.

So that's what I did. I let Erwin hide out in my room when Gerald got home that night, and made sure to keep him occupied. I couldn't exactly hide the fact that I did seemingly disappear off the face of the earth for three hours, leaving Erwin to his own devices while I dealt with the Gerald's drunken rage, but I managed to cover everything bar one bruise above my eye when I re-entered my bedroom, with food hidden beneath my jumper.

"What happened?" He asked, not hesitating to examine the bruise as soon as it caught his eye. He'd been reading.

I simply shrugged it off. "Nothing. Hit my head getting your stupid food."

It went on like this for two whole weeks. Everything went off without a hitch, too. Gerald didn't suspect anything, I didn't have to reveal to Erwin my uncle's abuse or my self-harm, and Erwin lived comfortably in my bedroom and the bathroom adjacent to it. We'd worked out a schedule and everything. And then, on the weekend of the third week, Gerald left for a week.

He told me to be on my best behaviour, that he'd notified the school to let him know if I didn't attend classes, and that the house better be spotless by the time he got back. When he said 'spotless,' he didn't mean a little dusting, either. Living with the man who I had no choice but to call 'family,' I got to know a thing or two about cleanliness. Of course, he loved making a complete and utter mess of me, but if anything got dirty that wasn't supposed to, it was my fault and I had no choice but to _clean it up Levi or I'll make those filthy hands of yours do even filthier things that what you've done already, you sorry son of a whore-_

It took only a glance around the living room for me to understand that I had a rough week ahead of me.

But I also had Erwin.

Perhaps there are some people in the world who are reliable. Not that I would let down my barriers just because a familiar face showed up. Not even he had the ability to earn my trust in such a short amount of time.

After all, he'd left my life and quickly as he'd entered it. Who's to say that wouldn't happen again? I couldn't risk having another person leave me behind while my defences were down.

After we'd got the house relatively tidy the night he left, Erwin offered to take me into Trost City for dinner. I was reluctant, given the bandages wrapped tightly around both of my thighs holding in the rivers of crimson pouring from my freshly opened wounds, but I eventually gave in.

I hadn't been out of the house besides school, anyways, and given that the school holidays were approaching in two days I was sure I would be locked away for those measly weeks too.

I had to take whatever chances were given to me to get out of the house and not reap any unnecessary consequences for it.

We went to a place called Recon; a rather large 50's style diner with glamorous lights and a grand piano right in the centre. It was mostly inhabited by oldies, but there were a few young people too, mostly eating dinner with their families.

I couldn't help the jealousy that pricked at my core upon seeing two young families a few tables away from us, apparently celebrating something, where a girl who was clearly not related to either family was sat in between her parents. What I wouldn't have given to be in her position. I later learn that I'd take that statement back, seeing as the man to her right is a certain Mr Grisha Yeager. If only I'd known at the time just which family I'd been so unnecessarily jealous of.

I let Erwin order for me, having never been out to dinner before, and try my best not to get restless waiting for the food. I hadn't had a proper meal in a long time at that point, and so the smell of fresh meats and crisp salads and vegetables practically called for me.

"You're allowed to go to the salad bar," Erwin said, snapping me from my daydream. "It's free with any meal purchase."

I gaped at him. "Free? In a place like this?"

He nodded, and I immediately got up and headed over to the salad bar. I also ended up eating more vegetables in that single night than I'd had in probably my whole life, but it was worth having to pop open the button on my jeans.

If there's anything Erwin taught me that I'd taken to heart, it was that it's okay to be selfish sometimes. Not if its going to impede you or anyone around you too greatly, but treating yourself isn't something you should be ashamed of.

As we walked back to Erwin's car under the soft glow of the street lights, he spoke up. "You know, Recon is hiring. If you're looking for work, of course. It seems like you're always cooped up in that house of yours. That can't be good for you."

I gritted my teeth, but held a firm tongue. I'd almost let loose about Gerald. "No, I'm not looking for work. I need to- I need to finish studying."

I lied. Not only to myself, but to Erwin too.

At the end of the year, a few months after Erwin had found a place to stay with a college fried of his, I dropped out of high school.

It wasn't completely my decision, but I sure as hell wasn't opposed the idea. Gerald said it was too much having to pay for my tuition when I would never do anything with my life, and un-enrolled me after our final exams of eleventh grade without another word about it. I didn't try to fight it either, because honestly, I wasn't coping with the work.

I couldn't handle myself, remaining completely unmotivated to do anything and unfocused to actually retain the information I needed. I wasn't getting enough sleep, or eating enough, or keeping enough blood in my body to function. When you're not getting enough nutrients and you're taking even more away, you're creating a recipe for disaster.

It was for the best, he told me. And I believed him.

I _fucking_ _believed_ him.

And then there I was, not two weeks into finally being freed from one of the many tedious tasks of living, lying on my stomach being fucked into the dirt in the backyard, with the dogs not three feet away barking at me whenever I opened my mouth to cry out. I don't know if he ever saw the cuts, but if he did, that sick bastard couldn't have cared less.

I was left outside when he finished up, covered in dirt and dust and cum and dog shit. He left with little more than a 'I'm going out, and I won't be back for a few days.' He had the courtesy to throw me the house key so I could get back inside, but I can't say I'd call that an act of apology.

I got inside as soon as I heard his car start, scurrying away from those vicious mutts as fast as I could without tearing what was left of my asshole, wiping stupid, weak tears from my eyes as I practically crawled to the bathroom.

Filthy, filthy, filthy. I could only hear that word replaying in my mind over and over and over. No matter how hot the water was, how much it burnt, or how hard I scrubbed, the feeling just wouldn't leave me. I felt disgusting, like scum. Every part of me was tainted and there was nothing I could do about it except sit beneath the scalding water of the shower and wait for a few layers of my skin to burn off.

After I managed to get out of the shower, water bill be damned, I pulled on a clean pair of pyjamas and did something I vowed I would do a long while ago. I opened up a chat with Farlan and asked for his help.

It was nothing too brash, nothing that would reveal anything more than 'I'm in need of someone, can you please help me.' But I guess sometimes things just don't work out in your favour.

 **Me  
9:35pm**  
Hey Farlan, I'm not sure if you're busy or not and I don't want to bother you or stress you out, but do you remember when you said I could get away from home and just hang out with you? I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer now. I know it's late and I don't want to burden you, I just thought I'd ask.

I thought that was enough. I wanted that to be enough. But then the realisation of everything that had happened hit me like a train wreck, and the rest of the message came out as pleading, stupid garbage.

 **Me  
9:37**  
I just I'm sorry I'm sorry you can say no I understand it's a lot to ask so thanks in advance just yes I'm sorry

My blades were in perfect view, sitting atop my bedside table, glinting like diamonds in the perfect sunset. I begged myself to wait for a response before taking drastic, stupid measures. He'd told me he'd always be there for me. People don't just say that if they don't mean it, right? He'd been so good to me. So understanding, so patient. He'd surely be there for me in a time of need, I was sure of it.

A few long, anguish-ridden minutes later, and he sent through a response that had my heart practically exploding in my chest.

 **Farlan  
9:41pm**  
Hey Levi, I'm really sorry but I'm at my dads place right now and he says it's too hard to drive out

 **Farlan  
9:41pm**  
Are you okay? Do you need me to call Isabel or someone?

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat, the emptiness in my stomach, and let out a shaky sigh before typing out a pitiful reply.

 **Me  
9:42pm**  
I'm fine sorry for bugging you, thanks though

All I can remember from that night, that turning point, was that I cried and I hurt. I was hurt by others, and I hurt myself, and there wasn't nearly enough water in my body for the number of tears I cried as I returned to reality by the tip of a sharp, cold razor blade. It stung, but not anymore than the hurt and the guilt in my stomach did. I couldn't believed I'd trusted someone like that. I couldn't believe he'd believed me when I said I was fine.

I crawled into bed without bandaging the cuts, the slices of varying depths and severity sticking tight to the dark sheets of my bed. My mind raced, begging me to sit up and just slice as hard into my forearm as possible, just enough to cut an artery or a vein and be able to dizzily lose consciousness until I either woke up or achieved eternal rest.

But I couldn't. My body couldn't move, too physically and mentally strapped to find even the greatest motivation to sit up and reach across only a few inches. Instead, my mind did the aimless wandering for me. After all, what good is a friend who promises to be there for you and isn't? What good is having people close to you without being able to trust them?

From that point on, I decided I wouldn't trust anyone with anything. I only needed myself. I had the power to hurt or heal myself; to live or die; to succumb or to overcome.

I only needed myself.

- **x** -

I was terrified. Waking up to the mess I'd made of my sheets, and the dark, crusty crimson staining my legs, I thought I'd lost too much blood to even be alive. I guess some sick god got a kick out of seeing me suffer, watching me realise I was awake and in complete control of my own misfortune.

I was in such a terrible mood, I barely even heard the footsteps approaching my bedroom door. I barely had enough time to cover my mess before my door creaked open slowly, and Eyebrows himself poked his head around.

He made a small noise of surprise, cup of coffee in hand. "Oh, you're up. I hope I didn't wake you."

I glared at him, stomach bubbling with anxiety at the fact that he could remove my blanket at any moment and see what I'd done to myself. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

He grinned nervously, entering my room. "Well, I knocked a few times, and then rang the doorbell. But it seems I managed to wake up your neighbours three kilometres down the road before you'd wake up, so I let myself in... you really should lock your front door. I could have been a home intruder."

And what would they do? Hurt me? Abuse me? Steal everything we don't have here? Make me feel like a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong on this earth? Unfortunately for you, Erwin, the people who do all of that live here. I had to suppress a bitter snort, sitting up a little but keeping my forearms and lower body beneath the blankets. "Funny. I'll remember that next time... why're you here?"

"I figured we could hang out. I haven't started my uni course yet, and you're all done with school - I figured you'd have some free time, especially since your uncle isn't here."

"Gerald won't be back for another week or so."

I could see Erwin heard the disdain I felt for my so-called uncle in my voice, as he looked me up and down after the comment and his eyes widened a little, face paled. His demeanour quickly changed. "Well, hurry along then. I'll be waiting downstairs. Dress warmly!"

He leaves, and I nearly blow a fuse at the fact that he had the audacity to come here and invite me out when all I wanted to do was stay at home and wallow in self pity.

It didn't take me long to throw on an old sweater and a pair of dark jeans, after wiping down my wounds in the bathroom and bandaging them up properly. I felt sick to the stomach, looking at the destruction I'd done to myself, and the fact that I did it by choice. All of it was my choice. Gerald didn't force me to do this: I chose to. All of these thoughts and feelings, I didn't choose those - but I damn well chose how to handle it, and for that, I hated myself. Just another reason to add the ever-growing list of reasons why I deserved to suffer, or perhaps just to die.

"Levi? You okay?"

I'd been standing at the end of the hallway in deep, dark though, completely unaware I'd been in a conversation with Erwin before I blanked out.

"S-sorry?"

Erwin approached me and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, before stepping back and looking me up and down again. His eyes stopped in two places I really wish they hadn't.

"We should sit down and talk."

My gut wrenched, and my immediate instinct was to kick him out. "What about?" I hissed. "I thought we were going out."

Erwin hummed. "We were- or, we are. But I need to make sure you're okay. I don't think you're doing too well."

"I'm fine," I said, pushing past him to enter the kitchen and pour a glass of water from one of the clean glasses. I really needed to get the house clean. I needed to clean everything up, make it nice. "I think I just stayed up too late last night. I'm tired."

"You're tired..." Erwin followed behind me, choosing to lean over the counter and observe my fiddling, shaky behaviour as my nervous instincts kicked in and I began to wipe down the bench in an anxious frenzy. "You do look tired. Perhaps we should just stay in and watch a few movies today."

I practically threw the cloth onto the tabletop. "You made me get dressed even though we're not going out? That's kind of sadistic."

"You don't normally get dressed?"

"Not if I'm not going out. What's the point? It's not like I'd be seeing anyone- well, not like I usually see anyone."

Erwin frowned. "Levi... how long have you been wearing those clothes?"

I look down at the sweater. "I don't know... a few weeks? Since Gerald left, probably."

There's something about admitting your problems out loud that both gives you relief and infuriates you. Saying even that I had worn the same clothes - and bathed far less than normal - for over three weeks made me feel pathetic. Compared to neat, clean, calm and collected Erwin, I was nothing but a sewer rat who could use a hairbrush. He gave me a look of pity, and I hated it.

"Oh, what. Like you haven't even worn the same clothes."

"Not for that long, no."

That was a punch to the gut. That single statement hurt, but I tried not to let it show. I tried not to let Erwin onto the fact that self-respect seems to be a luxury that not all of us are entitled to. A part of that realisation made me resent Erwin, even if just a little.

Erwin clears his throat just as the rain begins to set in, darkening the skies and deepening the mood. I couldn't help but stare out at the storm, something about it wrapping around my mind and bringing me back to the present.

"Did you go to Farlan's the other day?" He asks, graciously taking the glass of water I hand over to him as a pitiful expression of apology.

I swallowed. "No, I didn't."

Erwin pales a little. "Oh."

 _'Oh_ ' is right. _Farlan had a party without me? Is that why he wouldn't help me last night, too? Has he completely abandoned me for fear of getting too close and becoming sick too?_

"I'll be back," I said, hanging the hand towel back up before making my way out of the kitchen. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

I didn't go to the bathroom. I went straight to my bedroom and felt around for my phone, pulling up FaceBook and seeing the damage for myself. He'd only posted the pictures a little while ago, but it seems as though everyone I knew - everyone we knew - was there. Everyone was there but me.

I must have done something wrong. I must have said to much, or too little. I must have offended him, or maybe he never liked me in the first place.

Maybe he took the statement 'cut negative people from your life to better yourself' and decided I was something that needed to be taken out of his life for him to become a better person.

God... I fucked hated myself. I did that. I _made_ him hate me. I drove him away by being so _fucking needy and pathetic and useless and-_

"Levi?"

My door creaked open again, and I hadn't even noticed the blank, almost void expression on my face until Erwin sat beside me on my bed and seemed to reflect it back into my own eyes. He reached out and tugged at my sleeve, an action that made me pull away immediately. I knew that was a mistake, because I clearly convinced him of his concerns.

"How long?" He asked, looking down at my arms. I could see now that the fabric was thin enough to almost see through - there was nothing I could have done to have covered the obvious dark lines running up and down my forearms. "Levi?"

I could barely respond, my voice raspy and lost. "I don't... know. Maybe a few years."

"Years? You've been doing this to yourself for years, and you never once said anything to anyone?"

I stood up and pushed myself away from him, backing off as far as I could. Defensive stance, offensive actions. That's all I'd ever known. "Back off, Erwin. Please leave."

Erwin shook his head. "I'm not leaving, Levi. It seems to me that too many people have left, and look what's happened. I'm not going to leave."

"Yes, you are! You have to!"

"I don't have to leave, Levi. I'm not causing you any harm I'm simply looking after you, because I care about you."

I scoffed. "Oh, please. You? Care about me? That's what they all say! Now get off this property before I call the police!"

Erwin eyes widened. "Y-you're serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious! Go! Now! I don't want you coming around here anymore, I don't want you meddling where you don't need to! I'm fine! It's being dealt with, I promise!"

Erwin stepped towards my door as I stepped closer to him, attempting to stay strong at least until he'd left my bedroom. "It's being dealt with?" He asked, most likely to himself. "How is it being dealt with? By who?"

"Erwin. Please, just go. I'm fine. I'm seeing someone about it, I promise."

It's amazing how easy it is to tell a lie when you need to save your own ass. I'd always prided myself on my ability to tell the truth as it was, to never sugar-coat anything unless it was completely necessary. In my later teenage years, I found myself proud of my ability to lie as if it were second nature to me. And it was. Lying was the only thing that got me through something for several years that could have been only one, had I only told the truth.

But I was afraid of the truth. If I told the truth, I would have had to face the pity and the disappointment and the disgust thrown in the way of people like me, people who see no other way out than at the end of a blade or a bottle or a syringe. There isn't much that separates the pain of an alcoholic from a self-harmer, honestly. People who indulge in dangerous behaviours and activities are slowly killing themselves anyway. It's isn't easier to see on some people.

Gerald extended his trip by another two weeks, much to my happiness, and I managed to clean the house more than three times in the same week that I kicked Erwin off of the property. By 'house' I mean every room that wasn't my bedroom. I kept that purposefully untidy so as to keep people out, and so that I could keep all of my harmful leisure at arms-length without worrying about it being found.

I tried not to think about it too much, tried to ignore the fact that I was just adding to my self-hatred the more I hurt myself. Curing hurt my hurting didn't do much but add more anguish, more pain, more suffering. But that's what it had come down to.

It seemed, at this point, that I would reach for a blade at any given moment in time. If I felt myself loosing grip of reality, or feeling depressed, or angry, I'd reach for a blade make sure that I felt that pain properly. Feeling it in the heart was heavy, but feeling it spill out onto the sheets seemed to lift a weight from my chest that no other coping mechanism had ever done. But even still, that wasn't enough. That's when I decided to pave the way for a future I had never imagined.

It wasn't hard to break into Gerald's new shed, nor was it hard to get my hands on the abundance of pills he kept stashed beneath his mattress, in his cupboards, and even beneath the floorboards.

It didn't register to me that I'd fucked myself over more than I'd intended to, not until I voluntarily opened the front door covered in my own blood only to be greeted by the shocked faces of Erwin and a brunette woman with glasses.


End file.
